gun buying

If someone walked up to you and said, “I am planning on killing you, your entire family and a significant number of the people who you know and care about,” how many of you would argue that this falls under “free speech”?

Of course you wouldn’t. You would understand that it is a threat and you would do anything you could to shut that threat down. Maybe you would file a police report, buy a gun, or fight that sonofabitch right there, or maybe you would be too afraid to do anything, but regardless of how you responded you would understand that this person needs to be stopped before he hurts you and your loved ones.

Every word from a neo-Nazi’s mouth is a threat of violence against Jewish people, Roma people and people of color and many others.

Not only is it a threat of violence, it is an active attempt to bring that violence into existence by recruiting others who will aid them in taking this violence to its greatest possible extreme.

Show the same respect for marginalized people’s rights to be protected and to defend themselves from political violence that you would expect to be shown if under threat of interpersonal violence.

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@Regrann from @themanspot - Liberals and Guns. Part 1 @armory_utah #guns #buying #killingmachine #protection #thearmory #tier1concealed #brcc #blackriflecoffee #freedomlifestyle #funnyvideos #ig #no #america #friday #tgi #thankgoditsfriday #freedomfriday #themanspot 🇺🇸 - #regrann

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9

“This is true love….do you think this happens everyday?”

✧ ( SHAMELESS SENTENCE STARTERS.

warning: triggers apply. adult language, sexual themes, violence, offensive subjects, offensive behaviors. please read & reblog with caution.

❛ And what exactly does “hooked up” mean? ❜
❛ It’s like a car wreck… you can’t not watch. ❜
❛ What’s that smell? It’s either vomit or fancy cheese. ❜
❛ There is no God. We’re all gonna die. ❜
❛ The hell? You’re supposed to negotiate! ❜
❛ If you’re looking for money, I don’t have any yet.  ❜
❛ How do you feel about metal splinters to the eye? ❜
❛ Are you up-to-date on your rabies shots? ❜
❛ I don’t like that you’re getting hurt on purpose to make money. ❜
❛ You’re kidding me? You’re actually serious about this shit? ❜
❛ You’re kinda growing on me. ❜
❛ Wanna see how fast I can unhook your bra? ❜
❛ You make my life a living hell and I want you out of here now. ❜
❛ Half of the world has penises, why do people get so upset about seeing them? ❜
❛ You’re nothing but a warm mouth to me. ❜
❛ I think I’m depressed. I’ve been feeling kind of funky lately. ❜
❛ I never said it was yours. You just wanted it to be. ❜
❛ Wouldn’t be the first time somebody’s disappointed me. ❜
❛ I don’t mean to be an asshole. It’s just… genetic. ❜
❛ Fuck you is what you were invited to. ❜
❛ I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of pussy you’d be in juvie. ❜
❛ I want normal people problems. Like, am I getting enough fiber? ❜
❛ Hey, I think I just insulted myself. ❜
❛ Hey! What the fuck man! He’s/she’s dead! ❜
❛ Oh, could you be a little more vague? ❜
❛ You came all the way down here to talk about my pubes? ❜
❛ How the fuck do you not have a gun? ❜
❛ Sure you’re ready to pop your armed robbery cherry? ❜
❛ You should have seen your face. ❜
❛ You don’t know who you messed with, bitch. ❜
❛ You fuck with the bull, you get an ass full of horns! ❜
❛ I’m not used to having people yell at me all day long. ❜
❛ I have this friend. I think you two might really hit it off. ❜
❛ I’ve seen you put out after the first drink. ❜
❛ You know, I’d hug you but neither of us would like that. ❜
❛ I don’t get why just don’t use her/his face for target practice. ❜
❛ I want a fucking lawyer motherfucker! ❜
❛ You’re covering your own ass and you know it. ❜
❛ You know I used a condom. ❜
❛ Do you know where I can buy a gun? ❜
❛ You think you scare me? Bring it, bitch! ❜
❛ I’m starting to get fucking homicidal. ❜
❛ I will make this kitchen my bitch. ❜
❛ They’re having a party for kids across the street. No booze. ❜
❛ A shrink at school says I’m one of God’s mistakes. ❜
❛ I believe the answer to that question, like the answer to most questions, is fuck you! ❜
❛ Did the two of us finish an entire gallon of box wine the other night? ❜
❛ I can’t handle anything up my ass without alcohol! ❜
❛ I’d be crying right now if I wasn’t so high. ❜
❛ I’m not my dad. You hear me? I’m not my fucking dad! ❜
❛ I would never do half the shit that you’ve done to us. Why are you even here? ❜
❛ Even the homeless get better stuff than us. ❜
❛ I am just as likely as anyone of this family to make something of myself. ❜
❛ You want to get shit faced in the middle of the day.  ❜
❛ You have no money yet you’re going into a grocery store. Interesting. ❜
❛ Let’s go get drunk and buy a gun. ❜
❛ It’s a shame when someone you love gets taken away, isn’t it? ❜
❛ If this is a relationship you wanna save, then you gotta fucking save it. ❜
❛ Off to deal drugs on a Saturday morning? ❜
❛ I’m probably biased, you deserve better than him. ❜
❛ If you don’t get out right now, I will shoot you. ❜
❛ Still don’t want your family to know? ❜
❛ Did I mention that I’m falling in love with you? ❜
❛ You can’t feel a persons headache by touching his head. ❜
❛ Are you robbing me with my own fucking gun? ❜
❛ How can you tell when you’re in love with someone? ❜
❛ Is that supposed to be some kind of insult? ❜
❛ I’m done living the way other people want me to live. ❜
❛ I think I was trying to prove something, not to you but to myself.  ❜
❛ If it wasn’t sex then what was the problem? ❜
❛ What do you want me to say? That I’m self-destructive? ❜
❛ Random destruction makes you think of me? ❜
❛ I haven’t abused marijuana like the rest of you, so yes I remember. ❜
❛ Your turf? What is this West Side Story? ❜
❛ All I’m gonna be thinking about while you choke me out is how much I love you. ❜
❛ If I don’t invest in myself, no one else will. ❜
❛ It smells worse than a dead hooker’s ass in there. ❜
❛ I don’t wanna be me anymore. ❜
❛ Why would anyone go to the zoo sober? ❜
❛ I’ve had so many abortions the next one is free. ❜
❛ I’d trade my left nut for one more hour of sleep. ❜
❛ How do you do that? The nice thing? ❜
❛ I’m sick of living in your shadow. ❜
❛ I never thought I’d say this but you were right. ❜
❛ Where can I get knives and blunts? ❜
❛ I can’t share a room with someone in constant state of arousal! ❜
❛ I’m sneaking antibiotics into his toothpaste just in case. ❜
❛ I got tasered for like a second and I crapped myself. ❜
❛ I’ve never seen you put on deodorant before. ❜
❛ I haven’t had a drink for two days…well granted I was unconscious. ❜
❛ I’ll be in the bushes across the street stalking you. ❜
❛ Is there anything more enjoyable on earth than humiliating your peers? ❜
❛ I need to buy a gun. For protection. In case there’s a shooting here. I’m scared. ❜
❛ It’s my job to tell you when you’re making a huge mistake. ❜
❛ Have you ever woken up naked in the street with no idea how you got there? ❜
❛ You’re either boning or you’re waiting to bone. ❜
❛ Doctors are thieves, they just have degrees to keep them out of jail. ❜
❛ You want me to be realistic? Okay, I’ll be realistic. ❜
❛ I confided in you and you told everyone. ❜
❛ I have no idea what that means but I’m enjoying trying to picture it. ❜
❛ I never made any fucking promises to you! ❜

When they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it?

They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.

Was it worth it?



There’s never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.  

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to go out at all.  

The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn’t enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.



In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this.  

Oh baby, who says it’s over?



It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they’d experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of  stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.

If you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d die for. The boss they will die for.

They don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It’s all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they’ve got left to do is die.



Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.

There’s paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.



The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.



If the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.



Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.

vox.com
Why millions of Americans — including me — own the AR-15
What everyone is getting wrong about the weapon behind some of the worst mass shootings in America.
By Jon Stokes

“The AR-15 is not an “automatic weapon.” As we’ll see shortly, the range of firearms that fall (to one degree or another) into the category of “AR-15” is staggeringly diverse, but one thing they all have in common is that they all fire only one round with each pull of the trigger. In contrast, the AR-15’s military sibling, the M16, is capable of fully automatic fire, which means that the gun will keep spitting out bullets as long as the trigger is pressed and the magazine is loaded…

“…My point in bringing up the lever action rifle is that civilians have been buying “weapons of war” for a very long time, since the black powder musket days. This is partly because soldiers who come home from wars to enter civilian life often want to buy a version of the weapon they were trained on and trusted their life to. And it’s also because “military grade” is widely (if sometimes mistakenly) understood to mean “this technology has been tested in the real world, the kinks have been worked out, and its reliability and effectiveness have been proven in the field by an entity with the resources of an entire nation at its disposal.” Thus it is that since the dawn of the gunpowder age, gun buyers have snapped up military hardware, because that is often the very best hardware they can get their hands on. In this respect, today’s AR-15 buyers are no different than yesteryear’s lever action rifle buyers….

“…The AR-15 is less a model of rifle than it is an open-source, modular weapons platform that can be customized for a whole range of applications, from varmint control to taking out 500-pound feral hogs to urban combat. Everything about an individual AR-15 can be changed with aftermarket parts — the caliber of ammunition, recoil, range, weight, length, hold and grip, and on and on. In the pre-AR-15 era, if you wanted a gun for shooting little groundhogs, a gun for shooting giant feral hogs, and a gun for home defense, you’d buy three different guns in three different calibers and configurations. With the AR platform, a person with absolutely no gunsmithing expertise can buy one gun and a bunch of accessories, and optimize that gun for the application at hand. You can even make an AR-15 into a pistol….

“…So the “defensive rifle” (as opposed to the “assault rifle”) is a nonsense idea that exists only in the minds of people who know nothing about guns. This being the case, you can’t fault gun owners for not buying or building such a weapon, because that is not a real thing and never will be. An assault rifle is a defense rifle, and a defense rifle is an assault rifle; these two concepts are identical — such is the very nature of armed combat, in which one person is trying to prevent himself from being killed by killing the other guy first. Anyone who “needs” a defense rifle “needs” an assault rifle, because they are the same…

… “You may reject all of the rationales offered above, which is fine. It’s totally respectable for you to admit that you don’t believe the rationales for AR ownership outlined above are legitimate, and therefore we should outlaw civilian ownership of a very large category of weapons. But what isn’t respectable is to argue this way, and then to turn around and claim that “nobody is coming for your guns!” That’s insulting, and we both know it isn’t true. Stop doing that. If you’re serious about banning guns, you can talk about banning all semiautomatic guns, or about restricting guns to a list of approved models or actions. This is may not be politically realistic at the moment, but at least it’s consistent and rational. But talk of banning just the “AR-15” — as if that’s a specific model of gun that you can just up and ban — is technologically infeasible and ultimately counterproductive.

6

I hadn’t planned on this one but when you find a great condition No. 1 MKIII for $200.00 you don’t turn it down. I usually see these things for $350-$500 now.

So now I have an SMLE….or rather a SHTLE in this case I guess. I used to have a No. 4 MKI I sold to a buddy years ago and always kind of missed it.

I really want to find a way to mount it above the fireplace, but living on a first floor apartment it doesn’t seem like a good idea…but it’s just too pretty to keep locked in a safe!

I’m horrible at identifying these things if anyone knows anything else about it let me know!

Survive

I was going to jump.

I’d weighed the options. I wasn’t about to go out and buy a gun, and I’d developed enough of a tolerance that I couldn’t be certain pills would work. Plus I’d always had an aversion to hanging and I’m too much of a coward to slit my wrists.

So I was going to jump.

I’d settled on the common idea that if one, just one person smiled at me on the way I’d turn around and try to get help. If anything, I suppose it was the last little part of me that held some semblance of hope for the future. Naturally, I received no smiles the entire way to the bridge.

So I was going to jump.

As I peered into the waters below, though, I saw a face. Not a fish, and not quite human either. But a face nonetheless. A face that stared back at me with an unusual smile. A smile that, far from the kind I’d imagined I’d see from any passerby, held a sort of joyous contempt.

See, I was going to jump.

But something about that smile wound up saving my life. Because it seemed to suggest, “go ahead, I can’t wait to meet you.”

anonymous asked:

Which songs remind you of the Critical Role characters? Hard mode: you can't use any of the cast's character playlists.

Grog: “Invincible” (OK Go)

When they finally come to destroy the earth

They’ll have to go through you first

Bet they won’t be expecting that

So, look, they just keep coming, and at a certain point you almost gotta feel sorry for them. Do the right thing when it feels good. Do the wrong thing when it doesn’t. Above all, do what you do best: fuck shit up.

Keyleth: “Various Storms & Saints” (Florence + The Machine)

The monument of a memory

You tear it down in your head

Don’t make the mountain your enemy

Get out, get up there instead

You always thought there was nothing harder than following in her footsteps until you found yourself at the place where they ended. Keep walking beyond that greater destiny. Take risks. Love is always worthwhile.

Percy: “A Rush of Blood to the Head” (Coldplay)

Said I’m gonna buy a gun and start a war

If you can tell me something worth fighting for

I’m gonna buy this place, is what I said

Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head

You burned for so long that the unraveling of the knot at the base of your skull left you more chilled than you’d care to admit. Find a framework. Justify the means. Nothing frightens you more than what you’re going to be.

Pike: “Feeling Good” (Lauryn Hill)

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life

For me

And I’m feeling good

You were the first to slip out of reach, and you were the first to return; ever since then, it seems like you’ve been saying nothing but goodbyes. Get up. Get ready. Live a life freed from impossible expectations.

Scanlan: “Black as Night” (Nahko and Medicine for the People)

Built on hunger so fuckin’ stubborn

A lot of self-work undone

I am a witness (uh-huh uh-huh)

The life of one who carries all his secrets in his music

You’re drifting in the wake of a tilt-shift perspective, facing a stranger in the mirror, and the thing is, you’re a really good liar. Get your shit together. Be who you need to be. Be better.

Tiberius: “Blow it all Away” (Sia)

But if love is to be found

I’ll strip you bare ‘til truth comes out

But even if you had it all you would find

You blow it all away

You’ve got a path, you’ve got a destination, you’ve got your feet firmly on the ground and a compass pointing the way. Let them in. Block them out. You know what you’re doing, and you’re prepared to pay.

Vax: “Marked Man” (Mieka Pauley)

Know that I watch everything you do

And hope that I never stop watching you

The day I stop is the day I’m through

You’re a marked man, brother, a marked man, hey

You’ve got a drumbeat like a second pulse in your head, a doubling and redoubling of dread like clockwork winding down, darkness like a bruise over your heart. Fly higher. Fly faster. Find the end of your tether.

Vex: “Master Hunter” (Laura Marling)

I have some news

Wrestling the rope from darkness

Is no fucking life that I would choose

You’re breaking the mask away, piece by piece, but you keep the shards tucked away, just in case. Find your rare certainty. Know that you are even more than they wanted you to be. Stay hidden. Exhale. Fire.


Bonus: Taryon: “Totally Fucked” (Spring Awakening)

But the thing that makes you really jump

Is that the weirdest shit is still to come

You can ask yourself, Hey, what have I done?

You’re just a fly the little guys kill for fun.

Well, shit.

Literally in distress because

We don’t know what h a p p e n s to them or w h y

Why did Tyler buy a gun? He has an arsenal in his room? Why? He has school shooter tendencies and valid reasoning? What’s he up to?
In that same line of fire (heh) /did/ Alex shoot himself?
Where did Justin go?™
Did Skye and Clay end up dating or…?
DID ALEX SURVIVE?™
Did Bryce go to jail?
How did Jessica’s parents react?
How did Courtney’s parents react?

In-depth: the Lanchester & Sten

After the British Expeditionary Force’s retreat from Dunkirk in June 1940, Germany was expected to attempt a full-scale invasion of Britain. In order to accomplish this, they would need to eliminate the Royal Air Force, and as such, the RAF’s airfields were at serious risk. The RAF wanted a Schmeisser-type submachine gun issued to their personnel in the event of an attack from German paratroopers. The Navy had already ordered 2000 Smith & Wesson 9mm carbines and the Army, who by now had realized that they had vastly underestimated the military effectiveness of the submachine gun, began buying Thompsons from the United States.


The Biwarip machine carbine, an early precursor to the Sten made in 1938 and tested by the Small Arms Committee. Remarkably modern for its time.


The RAF initially examined captured MP-38s and ordered 10,000 British-made copies, but there were complications that resulted not only in the weapons being changed from copies of the MP-38 to the MP-28, but also the order being increased to 50,000 to satisfy the Navy as well, who had been forced to abandon the S&W carbines due to serious malfunctions. Sterling Armaments Co. was contracted to produce the initial prototypes of the MP-28 copy. The resultant weapon was finished, in the form of two pilot guns, in late 1940 and demonstrated on the 8th of November. The pilot guns were designed by George Lanchester and thus were named after him.


Lanchester Pilot Gun 3. For whatever reason, this model appears to have no rear sights. It was tested in November 1940.


Lanchester Pilot Gun 4. This is the model used for endurance trials and was essentially the finished product. Tested on the 28th of November 1940.


The Lanchester pilot guns were tested again on the 13th of November 1940 and were tested with a variety of 9x19mm catridges, including Winchester flat-nose, ICI, Bergmann, Beretta, and German military issue. The first pilot gun failed to discharge the Winchester and ICI ammunition, but the second did not run into any major issues and was considered on-par with the German MP-38.

On November 28th, further trials of the Lanchester pilot guns took place in the presence of both George Lanchester and Major Reginald V. Shepherd of the Design Department at RSAF Enfield. The Lanchester was now in its fourth pilot gun form and fired 5204 rounds with 26 stoppages. It passed all the mandatory tests but did not function when loaded with Beretta-made ammunition. Otherwise it was considered good to go and production rights were handed over to the Royal Navy for immediate manufacture as the Lanchester Mk.I. This weapon was issued to the Air Force and Navy until 1941, when it was simplified as the Mk.I*, which had no fire selector and fixed iron sights.


The Lanchester Mk.I. Known as the “British Schmeisser”. It was heavy, sturdy, and solidly built - typical of Naval manufacture.


The Lanchester Mk.I*. Fully-automatic only with fixed iron sights. Many Mk.I*s were simply modified Mk.Is, but were not marked as such.


The Lanchester was good but production costs were too high to equip the army. Something cheaper and quicker to manufacture was sought. In January 1941, an extremely simplified model was designed by George Lanchester and demonstrated at Enfield on the 10th of January 1941, and at Hythe on the 21st. The prototype was essentially a Lanchester stripped down to the bare minimum. It consisted of a simple tubular body made from steel and grips made from Tufnel. It was supposed to have a folding buttstock but for whatever reason this was never fitted. The only real change to the base design was the inclusion of a fire selector just in front of the trigger grouping. Otherwise it was internally the same as the Lanchester Mk.I.

A second simplified prototype was also conceived by George Lanchester and differed in that the cocking slot was now on the left side of the gun and had a much lighter bolt which was about an inch shorter than the original. The grips were redesigned to be more ergonomic, and a simple single-strut stock was fitted to the rear of the pistol grip.


The first simplified Lanchester prototype. Essentially the forerunner to the Sten. The cocking slot has a safety recess.


The second simplified Lanchester prototype. This version had left-hand cocking and a three-position fire selector.


Both simplified prototypes of the Lanchester were tested but rejected. But from this concept, the Sten was born. It was developed in early 1941 by Major Shepherd and Harold J. Turpin, who worked at the Design Department at Enfield. Thus the weapon was christened the STEN (Shepherd, Turpin, ENfield). The design was an incredibly simple blowback system based on the Lanchester with a fixed firing pin and simple cylindrical bolt. The first version of the Sten, the Mk.I, had wooden furniture, a conical flash hider, and a hinged fore grip, a feature not seen on any of the subsequent models. The Mk.I was cheaper than the Lanchester but still too expensive; it was simplified further as the Mk.I* in late 1941. The Mk.I* ditched the wooden embellishments, the flash hider and the fore grip feature. Throughout 1941, over 100,000 Mk.I and Mk.I* Stens were produced and issued to the army.


The Sten Mk.I. The original model of the Sten, with features such as a folding fore grip and a flash hider that were not seen in later models.


The Sten Mk.I*. The first of many steps to simplifying an already very basic gun. Although production was somewhat brief, thousands were made.


In mid-1941, the Mk.II Sten was designed. It was a bare-bones version of a gun which was already very basic. The main difference between the Mk.I and the Mk.II Stens was that the Mk.II had a new barrel that could not be interchanged with the original Mk.I barrel. The Mk.II barrel had only two grooves whereas the Mk.I had six. Externally, the Mk.II was incredibly minimalist. There were two main versions of the Mk.II produced: one with a wireframe stock and one with a single-strut stock. Neither were particularly pleasant to shoot, owing to the poor ergonomics. The upshot of all this was that the Mk.II Sten was incredibly cheap to produce en masse for the army and, as an added bonus, proved very easy for anti-Nazi partisans to copy in workshops.

The Mk.II Sten was tested at Pendine on from the 7th to the 25th of August 1941 and a glaring fault was discovered. The magazines were made from stamped sheet metal, which meant that the feed lips were prone to failure. If the magazine feed lips were misaligned even slightly with the magazine well, the gun would jam. The magazines were also highly susceptible to dirt and sand. All of this basically meant that the Mk.II Sten was highly unreliable if not handled with care, and even then it was probably inevitable that it would fail at some point during the heat of battle. But the army was faced with a choice between a mass of unreliable Mk.IIs, or a handful of Thompsons, Lanchesters and Mk.I Stens. They opted for the former.


The Sten Mk.II. The most successful version of the Sten, with several millions being manufactured during the war and used by various countries.


The Sten Mk.II with bayonet and single-strut stock.


Prototype T42 submachine gun, based on the Sten Mk.II. It had a single-column magazine and a redesigned trigger group.



Sten Mk.II with SMLE stock. This was made as an experimental model only and never issued.


Sten Mk.II with wireframe pistol grip, designed for paratroopers.


Copy of the Sten Mk.II made in a workshop by Danish partisans.


The Mk.II Sten was by far the most successful model of the Sten gun, with over 2,000,000 being produced throughout World War II. It was first issued to British and Canadian troops during the raid on Dieppe on the 19th of August 1942 and continued to be issued until 1945. It was also issued in considerable numbers to the Free French Forces, including the French Resistance.

In 1943, the toy manufacturer Line Brothers Ltd. were contracted to produce the Mk.III Sten, which was made from a single, riveted sheet metal tube that was welded at the top. The ejection also had an extra safety precaution that consisted of a simple finger guard. The barrel was fixed inside the tubular body, which could not be disassembled. In Canada, the Mk.III was manufactured by Long Branch Arsenal.


The Sten Mk.III. Manufactured by Line Bros. Yet another simplification to lower the cost of manufacture.


On the other hand, this prototype Mk.III with a wooden SMLE-style stock would have been substantially more expensive to manufacture.


An experimental Mk.III made at Enfield. The trigger grouping is level with the ejection and the cocking handle is on top.


The Mk.IV was the only one of the Sten “marks” not to be issued to the army. In fact, it never evolved past the prototype stage. It was designed in 1943 with paratroopers in mind, with a shorter barrel and folding stock. The first version of the Mk.IV had a conical flash hider and a very unusual pistol grip and trigger guard arrangement that was designed to facilitate for thick winter gloves. It was a mere 27 inches in length. After it was trialed at Pendine at rejected for improvements, a second version known as the Mk.IVB was developed which was designed to be fired with one hand. To achieve this, the balance of the weapon was changed by moving the trigger grouping forward to the middle of the gun. The trigger mechanism had to be completely redesigned to allow this. It was 24 inches in length but uncomfortable to fire. Besides its flaws, there was no immediate requirement for the Mk.IV model so it was never developed any further.


The Sten Mk.IV. Produced as a prototype only. It was designed for paratroopers and soldiers operating in cold weather conditions.


The Sten Mk.IVB. Designed to be fired one-handed. The shortest version of the Sten by far, it was more a machine pistol than a submachine gun.


The Sten Mk.IVS. A silenced prototype of which only one was ever made.


In 1944, the Mk.V Sten appeared. It was a much more presentable weapon and a far cry from the crude Mk.II  The Mk.V featured a wooden butt, pistol grip and fore grip. The fore grip was ditched in later models. The front sights were also redesigned and lifted from the No.4 SMLE service rifle. Internally, the bolt was improved with a cutaway that cleared the trigger disconnector when the bolt came over the sear. The resultant weapon was of excellent quality and made to a much higher standard than its precursors. Unfortunately, cheaply-made magazine were still being issued and consequently the Mk.V was still just as liable to failure as the earlier models, although this was not the fault of the gun itself.

The Mk.V Sten was issued extensively to paratroopers after D-Day and saw considerable use during Operation Market Garden in Arnhem, and issue of the Mk.V continued until the war in Europe ended in May 1945.


An early model Mk.V. This version had a fore grip which was not seen on later models. The stock could be detached for paratroopers.


The Sten Mk.V. The most polished version of the Sten manufactured during the war. It was much more reliable than the Mk.II and was issued in 1944.


Many variations of silenced Sten guns were also developed. British interest in silenced weapons began in 1940 when British Commandos demanded a quiet gun for eliminating lone sentries during covert raids. Initially they were issued silenced Thompsons made by RSAF Enfield, but these were too heavy and expensive to deploy in any numbers. When the Sten Mk.II appeared, Enfield developed a suppressed model called the Mk.IIS. It was designed by a Polish exile who was now serving with the Special Operations Executive, Lt. Kulikowski. The suppressor consisted of a series of metal cups wrapped around and in front of the barrel, with a rubber plug at the end. When the weapon was fired, the gases seeped out the sidewall of the barrel and their energy dissipated. The bullet traveled through the metal cups and penetrated the plug, which prevented the gases from escaping. These metal cups were encased in a perforated jacket which was surrounded by an additional jacket.


Prototype Mk.IIS. The silencer contained 24 baffles. With so much weight at the front end and so little in the stock, it would have been awkward to handle.


The Sten Mk.IIS. The most successful silenced weapon of World War II.


The Mk.IIS was issued to Commandos, the SOE, and other British special forces units, as well as resistance fighters across Europe. It was designed to be fired in single shots. Reportedly, the sound of the bolt was louder than the gunshot itself. The main drawback of the Mk.IIS was that it had an effective range of only 100 meters.


Sten Mk.II with an SOE-made silencer and basic wooden stock, issued to special agents in France.


The Sten Mk.VI. Basically the Mk.IIS principle applied to the Sten Mk.V. It replaced the Mk.IIS late in the war.


Late in the war, the Mk.V Sten was successfully silenced using a similar principle and this model was called the Mk.VI. It did not see as much use as the Mk.IIS but was probably, all factors considered, the best silenced weapon of the war. It was succeeded by the Sterling L34A1 silent submachine gun.

On one memorable Valentines day Ryan gives the whole crew hearts. Not chocolate hearts or candy hearts or even heart-shaped balloons, oh no. Fresh, hand-picked, unequivocally human hearts. More thoughtful than any store-bought gift if he does say so himself.

They’re carefully thought out, each presented differently; If Ryan’s going to do something then he’s going to do it right, wasn’t about to just throw slabs of bleeding meat down on the table and call it a day - he’s not an animal.

While it took the longest to obtain, Geoff’s is the  most simple. Sitting in a basic cooler, nothing fancy, easy to identify and not meant to last. For Geoff the gift is not the organ itself but the inevitable demise of the man it came from, the involuntary donor who’s crew will no longer be trying to push their way into Los Santos.

For Jack there is a necklace, long and elegantly simple, the tapered rose-gold vial engraved with a small heart that makes her smile. Its unassuming, decorative and fashionable, perfectly belying the way the lid is sealed shut to preserve the ash within.

Ryan has never stuffed a heart with explosives before, hadn’t quite anticipated the difficulty of it, but his efforts are instantly rewarded by the involuntary way Michael snorts into laughter at the sight of the fuse snaking out of an artery. Its impossible not to join in when it goes off, humour infectious as Michael’s eyes light up, bellowing his amusement as gore rains down around them.

Ray receives what another might consider a serial killer’s love letter. A dismembered hand left in his favourite spot points him in the direction of a warehouse containing carefully arranged entrails which in turn lead to a breadcrumb trail of teeth. Thoroughly entertained Ray follows blood and gore all around the city before finding himself on the roof of an open-air parking garage, a giant blood red heart painted across the floor with the real deal placed carefully at its centre.

Gavin’s heart is in a ornamental jar, carefully preserved, bloodless and somewhat alien in appearance. It’s an almost shocking display of thoughtfulness, concession to the fact that Gavin, of all of them, would be the most disgusted, yet also somehow the one most likely to want to keep his gift. When he doesn’t have to smell it, feel the muscle gone cold in his hands, deal with the red stain of someone else’s life, Gavin is really quite delighted with the whole deal. Absolutely horrified, sure, but in that squirmy gleeful kind of way he gets, amused by his own revulsion, calling Ryan disturbing and lovely in the same breath.

Jeremy, who knows he definitely hasn’t been with them long enough to warrant a heart of his own (thank god?) watches it all play out with a bizarre mixture of amusement, horror and the tiniest pang of longing that comes along with feeling left out. At least until Ryan appears before him, as silent and terrifying as always, and thrusts a black plastic bag into his hands before ghosting away. The moment of shocked dread (whereupon Jeremy instantly realises that yeah nope warm-fuzzies of being included aside he did not need a human heart in his life actually thanks) is instantly washed away by helpless laughter when he opens the bag and catches sight of the anatomically-correct toy heart smiling cheerfully back at him. 

Evfra De Tershaav (not so salty?)

(Spoilers for some plot points)

Ok. So since a friend and I are wanting to write some Evfra fluff/ smutt, I decided I needed to go back to the game proper and get a feel on his personality.

He isn’t what I thought he was going to be.

Going into planning for this fic, I expected Evfra to be super salty just… all the time. He was made of salt in my head. And this was probably because I hadn’t actually paid that much attention to him past his introduction the first time you meet him.

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