vans off the road


The Dunblane school massacre was the deadliest mass shooting in the UK’s history, when gunman Thomas Hamilton killed 16 children and one teacher at Dunblane Primary School near Stirling, Scotland, on 13 March 1996, before killing himself.

At about 8:15 a.m. on Wednesday 13 March 1996, Thomas Hamilton, aged 43, was seen scraping ice off his van outside his home at Kent Road in Stirling. He left soon afterwards and drove about 5 miles (8 km) north to Dunblane in his white van. He arrived on the grounds of Dunblane Primary School at around 9:30 a.m. and parked his van near to a telegraph pole in the car park of the school. Hamilton cut the cables at the bottom of the telegraph pole, which served nearby houses, with a set of pliers before making his way across the car park towards the school buildings.

Hamilton headed towards the north-west side of the school to a door near toilets and the school gymnasium. After entering, he made his way to the gymnasium armed with four legally-held handguns—two 9mm Browning HP pistols and two Smith & Wesson M19 .357 Magnum revolvers. He was also carrying 743 cartridges of ammunition. Before entering the gymnasium, it is believed Hamilton fired two shots into the stage of the assembly hall and the girls’ toilet. Upon entering the gymnasium, as he was about to be confronted by Eileen Harrild, the PE teacher in charge of the lesson, he started shooting rapidly and randomly. He shot Harrild, who was injured in her arms and chest as she attempted to protect herself, and continued shooting into the gymnasium. Harrild stumbled into the open-plan store cupboard at the side of the gym along with several injured children. Gwen Mayor, the teacher of the Primary 1 class, was shot and killed instantly. The other adult present, Mary Blake, a supervisory assistant, was shot in the head and both legs but also managed to make her way to the store cupboard with several of the children in front of her.

From entering the gymnasium and walking a few steps, Hamilton had fired 29 shots with one of the pistols, killed one child, and injured several others. Four injured children had taken shelter in the store cupboard along with the injured Harrild and Blake. Hamilton then moved up the east side of the gym, firing six shots as he walked, and then fired eight shots towards the opposite end of the gym. He then went towards the centre of the gym, firing 16 shots at point-blank range at a group of children who had been incapacitated by his earlier shots.

A Primary 7 pupil who was walking along the west side of the gym building at the time heard loud bangs and screams and looked inside the gym. Hamilton shot in his direction and the pupil was injured by flying glass before running away. From this position, Hamilton fired 24 shots in various directions. He fired shots towards a window next to the fire exit at the south-east end of the gym, possibly at an adult who was walking across the playground, and then fired four more shots in the same direction after opening the fire exit door. Hamilton then exited the gym briefly through the fire exit, firing another four shots towards the cloakroom of the library, striking and injuring Grace Tweddle, another member of staff at the school.

In the mobile classroom closest to the fire exit where Hamilton was standing, Catherine Gordon saw him firing shots and instructed her Primary 7 class to get down onto the floor before Hamilton fired nine bullets into the classroom, striking books and equipment. One bullet passed through a chair where a child had been sitting seconds before. Hamilton then reentered the gym, dropped the pistol he was using, and took out one of the two revolvers. He put the barrel of the gun in his mouth, pointed it upwards, and pulled the trigger, killing himself. 

A total of 32 people sustained gunshot wounds inflicted by Hamilton over a 3–4-minute period, 16 of whom were fatally wounded in the gymnasium, which included Gwen Mayor and 15 of her pupils. One other child died later en route to hospital.


#FBF to the first Thrasher Magazine King of the Road issue in 2004 featuring a Dr. T era Tony Trujillo getting the cover shot for team Deluxe. 

Check out all 4 colorways Tony’s newest Old Skool inspired shoe, the TNT SG, at, doctors orders!


Yesterday, we drove to Yankee Doodle Lake to test out the off-roading finesse of the Freedom Fridge before we really start to work on it.

Met up with some friends, got stuck, tested the winch, almost drove off a huge cliff, hiked up to Yankee Doodle, and then got pizza. Good day for sure.

The road up to Yankee Doodle still has an snow drifts, making Doodle and the Needles Eye currently inaccessible to vehicles. However, the drive is still a good one, giving you a great view of Rollinsville and the valley.

I saw a fun example of how human cognition is a subsumption-based architecture with shitty visual processing today: crossing the street at an intersection with some cars turning across the pedestrians when an ambulance muscled its way in and blared the siren unexpectedly, freaking out the cars and a confused post office van that cut the ambulance off. Everything grinds to a halt as normal road rules are suspended (a high priority interrupt!) until the ambulance gets through and disappears down the street. Then the drivers all pop back to what they were doing, except they haven’t fully restored their previous states nor taken into account that other details have changed during the ambulance interrupt, so one of them starts accelerating towards the people crossing the road.

At this point I’m watching the driver wondering when he’ll notice; he’s looking directly at the pedestrians but to him they’re invisible as the interruption has primed him to look for cars and ambulances so people on foot aren’t even registering as objects of interest, they’re literally not present in his mental model of the world at this time.

Eventually (a few seconds later) the people occupy such a significantly large portion of his visual field that their unexpected presence triggers another interrupt and I literally see his eyes widen as he suddenly notices them and thinks oh shit where the hell did those people come from; at first he abortively tries to swerve around them then his situational awareness finally kicks in and he slows to a stop, then mentally regroups and tries to figure out what just happened.

It was such a perfect example of so many things:

 - complex tasks can be shattered by unexpected interruptions and people don’t always recover state automatically without external prompting

 - people see what they expect to see, what they are primed to see, or what they want to see; people can fail to see something that is directly in front of them if it’s judged as not relevant to the situation at hand

 - human reaction times are really slow (seconds!) when we’re not expecting to have to react to anything or anticipating the need for reaction

 - “he came out of nowhere” sounds a lot better than “I didn’t see him” which sounds better than “I was looking directly at him but somehow failed to notice his existence”, but these may all be the same phenomenon

I really gotta invest in that dashcam helmet for daily life.

#133 - For anonymous x2

Filling the prompts “could you do one with a plus size model?” and “Fic based off of heathrow? The lil "snog her in the kitchen/ dance with her to lemonworld” bit?“

Note: To the plus sized model requester: you may also like #69 - click here. To the Heathrow requester: I hope you’re okay with how I used the song in this fic? Gives it a little more originality than a basic story based word for word on the lyrics, you know? =^.^=

You’d only done print media before; just photographs. When the opportunity came up to audition for a music video, you jumped at it. The casting call write up was vague. They needed a girl aged between twenty and thirty that was comfortable smoking on camera, and looked good in a leather jacket. That was it. There were no specific requirements about hair colour, height, body type, or anything like that.

As you waited for your turn to audition, you sat in a row of other girls. You stood out. You were the only one who wasn’t wearing makeup, and you were the only one who could be considered plus size. Knowing very little about the project, it was hard to determine if those were going to be strengths or limitations. When it was your turn, the butterflies in your stomach settled. The anticipation was what killed you. The actual audition part was easy.

In the room there was a rectangular table. Behind it sat someone introduced as Andy, the director, and another as the label rep. Sitting on the table itself was a guy who presumably was in the band, or was already cast to be in the video. He was in black ripped jeans and a black and white striped shirt. His name was Van and (you had correctly guessed) he was the singer. You shook all their hands and watched for any immediate reaction. Van smiled warmly and as he blinked you noticed the length of his eyelashes. You knew models that would kill for them.

Keep reading

you’ve got a fire inside but your heart is so cold

Pairing/s: Cheryl x Veronica, Archie X Valerie, Betty X Jughead

Words: 3,843 (oops)

A/N: this wasn’t requested and the longest thing i’ve written in my entire life. if you find any mistakes please send me a message and i’ll fix it asap.

Originally posted by jonesjughead

“Camping? I didn’t think that was your thing, Veronica.” Archie said rather loudly. 

The gang was all sitting around their table during lunch when Veronica had suggested that Jughead, Betty, Archie, Valerie and herself all go down to Sweet Water River that weekend for a camping trip.
“Archie, keep your voice down or-” Betty was soon cut off by a certain redhead who had been listening to the entire conversation they’d been having.
“You guys are going camping? Count me in!” Cheryl had walked right over and sat right next to Betty, causing the group to sigh.
“Look Cheryl, no offense but I think we have enough people going already. We have no more room.” Jughead tried to reason, though he knew it was hopeless.
And he was right, because Archie just had to go and open his big mouth, yet again.
“What are you talking about Jug? I mean, you’re going with Betty, right? I’m sharing with Val, which leaves Veronica on her own. Cheryl can share a tent with you, right Veronica?”
“See? Perfect!” Cheryl exclaimed, “this weekend right?”
Veronica perked up. She liked Cheryl, and was always looking for ways to talk to her. Though didn’t think the sassy redhead was up for friendships.
“Yeah, Cher can share with me.” Veronica said, noticing how Cheryl’s eyes lit up at the nickname, “We’re leaving around noon on Saturday so meet us at Pop’s.”
“Perfect!” Cheryl stood up and threw her gorgeous red hair over her shoulder. “Can’t wait!" 

Keep reading

I’ve Been There

A/N: A request where the reader is kidnapped by the unsub and given the same drug Reid was given when he was taken by Tobias Henkel. After a little fast forward, Reid notices the same changes in her that he had and talks to her about it. @coveofmemories

Warnings: Drug addiction, seizures


She was his best friend. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. 

But what if they were too late? 

“We have to make it,” Spencer mumbled under his breath. “Hotch, step on it!”

“I’m going as fast as I can without losing control of the car, Reid!” he yelled back. They were weaving through traffic, watching as cars and vans alike veered off to the sides of the road as if they were forced to do so by some supernatural force.

It wasn’t going to be fast enough. They had the trace. They knew who he was. They knew she was still alive. But she wasn’t going to be for much longer. If she died, he’d never forgive himself. A tear rolled down his cheek as he gripped the leather seat so tightly that his nails broke the material. “Kid, we’re gonna get to her,” Morgan said, placing his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “She’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” he mumbled, bringing his hand, knuckles still white, up to cover his quivering lip. “If we don’t get to her in time…”

“We will,” Morgan said again. Reid wished he could believe Morgan, but everything in his brain was screaming at him that they were going to be too late and this was all his fault.

As they pulled up to the warehouse, they split up into pairs, entering from all different angles. Morgan and Reid were the closest. “I’ll go first,” Morgan whispered. Reid opened his mouth to protest; he wanted the first shot at this bastard. But that was exactly why Morgan needed to be the first one in. 

Gently but quickly, he pushed the door open. “Step away!” he yelled. “Put the needle down!” But it was too late; he had pushed the plunger just as they’d walked in the door. 

“No!” Reid yelled, falling to his knees at her side and fearing the worst. As he picked up the bottle, he saw what it was; he knew it all too well. When he pressed his fingers to her neck, she still had a pulse, but they needed to get her to a hospital immediately.

Before collapsing at her side, Reid had dropped his gun. As the rage coursed through him, he felt himself reaching for it. Ready to pull the trigger. “Reid!” Morgan bellowed. “Take her and leave! I have him!”

He kicked his gun back toward Morgan, not trusting himself to spare the man’s life before picking up Y/N and carrying her out of the warehouse just as the ambulance showed up. “I’m coming with you,” he told the EMT. “She’s my best friend.”

“We need to go now,” the man said. “Let’s go.”  


She wouldn’t have made it another 30 minutes at the rate he’d been drugging and beating her. It was a miracle she’d made it as it was. After ensuring that the drugs were out of her system, she’d been released from the hospital. He hadn’t heard from her in a week. “Y/N?” he called, rapping on the door to her apartment. Granted, it made sense for people to withdraw after trauma, but from what he could tell, she withdrew from everyone. Extreme social isolation was an effect of the drug she’d been given - he knew firsthand. To be alone for this long wasn’t good for her either. “It’s Spencer. Please let me in.”

“What is it?” she yelled, opening the door with such speed that the breeze knocked his hair into his eyes. “What do you want Spencer?”

He swallowed hard. The woman in front of him wasn’t the woman he knew. Her skin was pallid and drawn, her eyes sunken in her head. Those beautiful eyes that held a thousand memories were devoid of anything. Even in the week since she’d been taken, she’d lost weight. Her wrists looked impossibly thin. Her skin was damp with sweat, but yet she was still wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Never in a million years did he imagine his best friend - the woman he loved - would end up addicted to dilaudid. But all the signs were there. “You shouldn’t be alone,” he said softly. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Y/N?”

It was as if she wasn’t paying attention. “Y/N?”

“What?” she snapped, turning away from the door and walking into her apartment. “I have such a headache. Tell me whatever you need to tell me and go.”

Spencer was about to tell her he could see the signs. He was more positive of her addiction than anything he’d ever known. But just as he opened his mouth, she collapsed, nearly hitting her head on the table as her body convulsed uncontrollably. “Y/N!” he screamed, falling to her side and grabbing hold of her head. “It’s okay…It’s gonna be okay. I’m here.” 

As he cradled her head in his lap, he dialed 911. “My friend is having a seizure!” he yelled into the phone. “Please! Help her!” He looked down just as her eyes began to roll back. 

The operator confirmed her address and told him what to do to keep her comfortable, but he already knew how to do that. What he didn’t know was how to do was help when it ended. After the shaking and tremors subsided, how was he supposed to help her get back to the person she used to be?


He felt something squeeze his palm. “Y/N,” he said, looking up, hopeful that she’d be okay following such an intense seizure. “You’re okay…”

She closed her eyes, swallowing back a sob as the walls of tears streamed down her face. “No…I’m not…”

“I know,” he said, taking his other hand and enveloping her entire plan. “I know you’re not…but you’re alive. And you’re not alone.”

In the past, he’d told her about the night he’d been taken by Tobias Henkel and drugged. How he always assumed he was the last person that could or would get addicted to drugs. How scared he’d been every time the plunger was pushed down. Would he ever wake up again? How after he got home, he suddenly found himself roaming the streets looking for someone who could sell him what he needed. She’d never understood any of it. Had always looked at him in awe. But now she knew. As their eyes met, a look of solidarity passed between them. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said, squeezing his hand again.

“It’s okay. I know why. I’ve been there,” he said. “And I’m going to be with you for every step of the recovery process. If you want me to be here during the withdrawals, I’m here.” 

She attempted to push off of the hospital bed. Find some leverage to sit up. But between the drugs and the seizure, she was too weak, so Spencer stood up and placed his hands under her arms to prop her up. “Why would you do that for me?” she asked. “I was so mean…and you’ve been through this before. You shouldn’t have to do this again.”

“I’d do it for you because I love you,” he said, the word spilling out of him like water over a waterfall. “I love you, Y/N…I always have.”

With a choked sob, she brought her hand to her mouth. “I love you too…When…When he had me, you were the only reason I kept fighting. I didn’t want to die without telling you…”

“I know,” he breathed, the tears falling from his eyes as he came to sit by her side. “I know.”