#the kid from akron

[freshthoughts2020]

[ethanryanpunal]

“A KID FROM AKRON”

[instructionsonback]

[the1astolympian]

an introduction my percy jackson ocs !! part one

- warning this post will be LONG. this is only 10/22 but i have years worth of lore/info. im hyperfixated on them LMFAOO

- i love talking about them. So Much. if yall have any questions or want any extra information please dm me/reply i will be so happy

- ages operate under the assumption that pjo takes place in the late 2000s/early 2010s hence why they r all 90s kids. all the ages mentioned are as of tower of nero (june 2011ish) because the ages are technically fluid depending on what time period im writing about

info below the cut :D

1. jacqueline sistine jakobs

she/he/they, genderfluid, lesbian

16, born march 23, 1995

child of dionysus

from paris, france. year round camper

dating madeleine

she is my favorite oc. ever. out of 180+ percy jackson ocs and god knows how many ocs for other fandoms/no fandoms. i love them the most

fun facts

1. their mbti type is esfp

2. she really likes reading

3. his dream job is to be an actor, if that doesn’t work out he wants to be a nurse

2. asra marceline hall

she/her, cis, lesbian

19, born october 31st, 1991

daughter of hecate

from bethlehem, pennsylvania. summer only camper but has since left for college

was in the titan army for a while. left shortly before the battle of the labyrinth with sebastian and ashlynn and rejoined camp half-blood

fun facts

1. her mbti type is intp

2. shes currently a psychology major

3. she has a photographic memory 

3. lydia “lyra” melody jumper

she/they, cis, lesbian

15, born january 28th, 1996

daughter of apollo

from burlington, new jersey. summer only camper

in an on-again-off-again relationship with lace

the first pjo oc i ever created :,)

fun facts

1. her mbti is estp

2. she changes the color of their braids like every two weeks. she is very indecisive when it comes to her hair

3. they really like photography and collect digital cameras (most are thrifted)

4. madeleine rebecca cole

she/her, cis, bisexual

15, born september 25, 1995

daughter of apollo

from north charleston, south carolina. summer only camper

fun facts

1. her mbti type is infp

2. she has prophecy powers which are so cool to me. i love writing stuff with them

3. she likes pottery

5. reid lucas edwards

he/him, cis, gay

16, born april 17th, 1995

son of demeter

from asheville, north carolina. started off as a summer only camper but switched to year round after 2 years

despite her not moving to the united states until she was 8, jacqueline and reid have been friends since they were toddlers. they met while reid was on vacation and jacqueline happened to move into reids neighborhood when she moved to the us

fun facts

1. his mbti type is isfj

2. hes deaf and uses hearing aids

3. he collects magazines and is an avid fan of crossword puzzles

6. catalina “cat” valeria gurrero

she/her, cis, bisexual

16, born september 18th, 1994

daughter of ares

from puebla, mexico. year round camper

dating darcy

fun facts

1. her mbti type is entj

2. shes my shortest oc at 4’11. she is also without a doubt the best fighter out of all my ocs

3. her original name was isabela (isa for short) knight. i do not remember when her name changed but its been catalina for over a year at this point

7. amira blair dupont

she/her, cishet

13, born january 22nd 1998

daughter of aphrodite

from paris, france. year round camper

fun facts

1. her mbti type is enfj

2. she is my youngest oc

3. a bit of a neat freak. she also loves decorating things

8. chase deshpande

he/him, trans male, straight

17, born november 30th 1993

son of ares

from aurora, colorado. summer only camper

fun facts

1. his mbti type is istj

2. he is in a band and plays guitar

3. he really likes race cars. he likes cars in general really. his car is his baby

9. kieran blake lee

they/them, nonbinary, pansexual

16, born august 26th, 1994

child of athena

from akron, ohio. summer only camper

dating taylor

fun facts

1. their mbti type is estj

2. they have glasses that they dont actually need. its purely for the aesthetic

3. very computer smart. they hack people for fun

10. lace amalia van astor

she/her, cis, lesbian

16, born april 26th, 1995

daughter of aphrodite

from amsterdam, the netherlands

in an on-again-off-again relationship with lyra

if my memory is right shes the first oc i ever created however she wasnt a pjo oc until later on. she was created around the same time as lyra i think

fun facts

1. her mbti type is infp

2. she collects vintage dishware/silverware

3. she always smells like vanilla. no matter what

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Pun Times

[at unicorn fuck club] Piers Anthony: ok guys get ready Piers Anthony: it's time for PUN times with Piers Anthony! Anthony: i think you'll all have a real SNAKE time! Anthony: ANACONDA they're so funny!

Anthony: so bob basilisk, gooey goblin, and steve Stymphalian bird were walking on the beach Anthony: when suddenly someone started shooting sea shells at them Anthony: normally shells just lie on the beach Anthony: but THESE shells were being shot at them

Anthony: these shells were being loaded into guns and shot at them Anthony: propelled by gunpowder! Anthony: in a manner quite unusual when it comes to shells in fact Anthony: most peculiar! Anthony: [turning to audience] can YOU guess the pun? turn the page for the answer

Anthony: in fact they were artillery shells! Anthony: eh? eh? get it? JRR Tolkien: GRR Martin: CS Lewis: Anthony: well, if you don't like it, blame Jimmy B. (12) of akron, ohio

Anthony: anyway princess penelope comes by Anthony: and she's all "oh no" Anthony: "i'm at the beach" Anthony: "guess i better..." Anthony: "TAKE OFF MY PANTIES!!!" JRR Tolkien: GRR Martin: CS Lewis: Anthony: you guys she's taking off her panties

Anthony: so princess penelope hides deep in the bushes and looks this way and that just to make sure that no one can see her take off her panties Anthony: but you know what she can't hide from? Anthony: the author! Anthony: it's too late, i've already seen everything

Anthony: guys for real though Anthony: i totally saw EVERYTHING Anthony: like, ALL her panties Anthony: i saw them JRR Tolkien: Anthony: she was wearing them Tolkien: Anthony: pretty cool, huh? JRR Tolkien: you know i'm just not gonna put any women in my books i think

Anthony: so just imagine if a sexy girl wore panties JRR Tolkien: i can't imagine this GRR Martin: no no he's on to something, i can picture this Brian Jacques: [squeaking] i use a sewn-up maple leaf for underwear!

Anthony: ok now just imagine the panties Anthony: oh boy you guys Anthony: i don't know if i should say it Anthony: it might be too hot GRR Martin: say it! Anthony: ok guys now just imagine Anthony: the panties are   Anthony: pink Anthony: oh ho ho i can't believe i said it!!!

Anthony: so just imagine the perkiest little pink panties you can JRR Tolkien: wait isn't this story for kids? Anthony: oh yeah there's nothing prurient or adult about this Tolkien: ah ok Anthony: these panties are being worn by a virginal 8 year old Tolkien: Anthony: so its fine

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

plot bunny rachel zegler in glee, sam AND mike ship

anon I'm so glad that you support my love of Rachel Zegler and my underpromoted Sam x Mike agenda but also I feel like I'm cheating on @cecexwrites' Maite who is my most beloved girl pls go check her out and love her asap

Carlotta "Carla" Vasquez

named Carlotta after the Phantom of the Opera character and Vasquez after Maria in West Side Story. She's an aspiring actress and has spent her entire life in dance and voice lessons and doing community theatre.

She and Rachel have known each other forever because of this, and were in countless dance & voice classes together and competitions against each other, and Rachel has been bullying her since they were little kids.

At 13, after Rachel did something to completely humiliate her at a competition (ripped seams out of her costume so it fell apart onstage, also put gum in her hair so she had to cut a lot of it off), Carla had a severe breakdown. She switched to a new dance studio, where she befriended Mike Chang and Brittany pierce, but her parents also moved to Akron to give her a fresh start. Everything was great, she was happy, no one knew about the worst moment of her life. She starts high school, becomes a cheerleader, gets recruited into Vocal Adrenaline by Jesse St James himself, and he and Shelby start preparing her to be the new female lead. She got a solo at nationals. Everything was perfect.

But then, because of something with one of her parents' jobs, they have to move back to Lima. Thankfully no one seems to remember her, except for Rachel Berry, and Carla is able to protect herself by joining the cheerios – the only club in school safe from Rachel Berry. Everything is fine. Thanks to Mike and Brittany, Carla is adopted into the Unholy Trinity and has the combined protection of the cheerios and titans, and she's finally starting to breathe again

Until Sue Sylvester decides that her four stars are going to prove their loyalty (and stay on the cheerios) by spying on the New Directions. Rachel Berry's ego club. And Carla might be a nationally winning show choir star, but Rachel is no more willing to share the spotlight than she was when they were 13

[tsunflowers]

I don't think "unwind" by neal shusterman is suitable as baby's first dystopia. you should start with the giver and work your way up. but it's perfect as baby's first speculative fiction that's a little Effed Up, and Twisted. if you're too young for margaret atwood and cormac mccarthy, here's a book full of real sicko stuff, for teens

the premise is that the US fought a second civil war over abortion and the compromise that left everyone unhappy was the invention of a procedure that allows for every part of a human body to be transplanted into another. the argument is that bc the donor never loses consciousness during the procedure, they are still "alive" while spread out in different people's bodies. this is unwinding. legally it can happen to any teen between 13 and 18. it's pretty dumb if you actually think about it but it's also very scary. too scary for me as a kid

our three protagonists meet by chance in akron ohio and end up on the run together trying to avoid getting unwound. one is a troublemaker whose parents got sick of him and decided to have him unwound. one is a girl from a state home who was sent to be unwound bc other kids were more talented and deemed worthier of growing up. there's a lot of kids in state homes in this universe where medical care is pretty advanced but abortion is illegal. the third was born and raised with the intention of being unwound bc he's the family's tenth kid and you gotta give 10% of everything back to the lord

there's a bunch of discussion questions at the end and I remember when I was reading for pleasure as a kid I always thought it was so cringe to see those in a book. but honestly I think it would be fun to read this in a class and discuss it. there's a strong theme of "don't judge a book by its cover" and it makes a real effort to get into the heads of all kinds of different people. there's a lot to dissect

also when mr shusterman wrote more books in the series they rereleased them with matching covers and they're fine but the first edition cover is absolutely the best

[imeverywoman420]

pls tell us abt cyraxx

gladly!!!!!!! Please everyone gather round

chance wilkins, aka cyraxx, is a 3rd generation sex offender. He is the ugliest person you have ever seen. Cyraxx thinks hes the “drift king” he thinks he’s an “e racer” meaning he plays racing video games all day. Hes a “rapper” too. Hes a pedophile and also allegedly raped a blind kid in high school and he lives with his grandma who he has a police report against for choking.

HES A LITERAL GOBLIN. hes the ugliest person ever. Hes so delusional its insane. He yells racial slurs and death threats on livestreams all day and frequently flashes his viewers. He will rationalize in his head how hes still The King Of akron even tho hes nothing.

He gets mad online all day. He has a longtime troll named marty, who he is always challenging to fights. Marty has pulled up before and cyraxx backed down.

well as of a few weeks ago, marty rented an air bnb right up the street from chance’s house. Cyraxx got his ASS BEAT!!!!! HE SCREAMED!!! Marty said whos the king cyraxx said YOU ARE. PLEASE U WIN UR THE KING. and ran off like a bitch.

THEN HE DROPPED A DISS TRACK ON MARTY. WHILE HE HAD A BLACK EYE AND A BROKEN NOSE. BIRTHING MY FAVORITE QUOTE OF ALL TIME “YOU USED YOUR WEIGHT AGAINST ME MARTY”

[yetisidelblog]

One of Donald Trump’s most terrifying plans revolves around the Department of Education, which he and his right-wing extremist buddies accuse of pushing “woke ideologies” on children through the public school system. What they mean by that is anything that doesn’t conform to their white supremacist, Christo-fascist worldview in which gay people don’t exist, Black people were never mistreated, the genocide of Native Americans never happened, and America has never done anything wrong in its entire history. Stop Trump from killing the DOE! “I say it all the time, I’m dying to get back to do this. We will ultimately eliminate the federal Department of Education,” said Trump in September during a rally in Wisconsin. “We will drain the government education swamp and stop the abuse of your taxpayer dollars to indoctrinate America’s youth with all sorts of things that you don’t want to have our youth hearing.” Ending the Department of Education would be devastating for millions of children across America, cutting off critical funding for schools to help accommodate low-income kids and kids with disabilities, while losing Pell Grants would put college educations out of reach for millions more young Americans. Our children are our future, and Trump wants to make sure they grow up dumb, bullied, and utterly unprepared for adulthood. We need Congress to act ASAP and protect the DOE from Trump! Tell Congress to stop Trump from killing the Dept. of Education!

@upontheshelfreviews

@greenwingspino

@one-time-i-dreamt

@tenaflyviper

@akron-squirrel

@ifihadaworldofmyown

@justice-for-jacob-marley

@voicetalentbrendan

@thebigdeepcheatsy

@what-is-my-aesthetic

@ravenlynclemens

@writerofweird

@bogleech

[heliads]

Your fics are amazing!! I especially love the Unwind ones! :) Can I request an angsty what-if fic where Connor doesn't go deliver his letter and is there when Nelson finds the antique shop? I don't know how specific you want me to be in my request, but a fight scene between Connor and Nelson would be cool (Nelson deserves to be punched). Thank you!

yes...YESSSSS

'guess that's growing up' - connor lassiter

masterlist

warnings: blood, violence, death

Five years ago, if you had asked Connor Lassiter where he thought he’d end up in life, he wouldn’t have said the basement of an antique shop. He certainly wouldn’t have expected to be in that same basement twice in the span of a few years. Life has a way of throwing you a few curveballs. It isn’t Connor’s fault if he can’t help but follow their winding paths until he ends up exactly where he started.

It isn’t like he’s back to square one. It can’t be, after all the friends he’s made and lost. Still, it’s hard to shake the feeling that he keeps getting dragged back home. As a kid, he’d always dreamed of running away and making it big, and then he’d actually had to run away when he found out he was going to be unwound. Now he’s back in Ohio, and although Connor finally has a hope for the end of unwinding thanks to the Rheinschild organ printer, he knows as surely as anyone that if this doesn’t work, the last of his luck might finally have run out. He was born here almost eighteen years ago, and he might just die here too.

Connor tries to keep his emotions light, but it’s hard, especially after being stuck in Sonia’s basement for far too many days. It took forever for them to leave the first time, and now he’s wondering how long they’ll spend trapped inside the lightless cellar now. Maybe someone will come down here decades in the future and find his old, brittle bones propped up in a corner someplace, the Akron AWOL reduced to a skeleton with a white, wiry beard like in the cartoons he used to watch as a kid.

So no, he’s not exactly doing a great job of staying optimistic, but it’s hard to get up the energy to converse with the other scared unwinds down here when he knows how this is going to end. It’s not his first rodeo. Nothing gets better before it gets worse again. Why take the time to memorize everyone’s name and favorite color if they’re just going to get ripped apart again in a matter of months? Connor might as well spare himself the heartache. If they do get unwound after all, some future client would probably appreciate it if Connor’s heartstrings were tugged as little as possible.

It’s not a funny thing to think about, but Connor’s sense of humor has gotten increasingly jagged and sarcastic as of late, if it wasn’t already bitter in the first place. When he tries to be funny, he just ends up cutting to the bone. He’s not Hayden. He’s never been good at making the jokes land when he needs them the most.

Hell, maybe that’s what’s unsettling him the most about being back here. If it weren’t enough to see the same familiar shadowy walls and low ceiling (look, there’s the place he gouged his initials in the corner two years ago), Connor has to do all of it not only with new faces but with the ghosts of the former ones. 

Thinking about who had been here with him before makes his stomach roil with guilt and regret. Roland is unwound now; Connor has his arm and is starting to understand his surly temperament, his gut reaction to snap at everything around him instead of smiling. Mai became a clapper and blew up Happy Jack; Lev was there with her, chemicals in his veins, but saved himself when she didn’t. Hayden is still alive, hopefully, although Connor hasn’t seen him in ages; he misses Hayden’s sense of humor most of all.

The only repeated characters in the basement are Risa and himself, but even they are so fundamentally transformed from who they’d been at the start that they could be different people entirely. Connor isn’t sure that he’s at all recognizable as Connor Lassiter anymore. He has the same skin, or most of it, but that’s the end of the similarities. Connor is left wondering how everything changed so drastically over two years, which leaves him in a state of hazy dread.

And then, of course– well, there’s the letter, and that blows everything else out of the water.

Sonia still has his letter, the one she’d had him write to his parents when he first showed up at her antique store. All of the notes from past unwinds she’s harbored are still here. The thought unsettles him more than Connor would care to admit. Even if the kids who wrote them are long since stripped of their parts, dead and gone or maybe somehow still alive, their writing is still here. He wonders if his handwriting has changed since he wrote it last. If Connor saw a few sentences of his letter, could he recognize it as his own, or is even that last hallmark of the boy he’d been gone from him forever?

Connor can’t help but obsess over every detail. It’s hard not to when Sonia keeps bringing it up. He’s not sure if she thinks he’s dramatically different from the boy he’d been, but she must want him to return to that former version of himself somehow, because she’s offered for him to hand deliver the letter to his parents. In fact, she seems rather put off by the fact that he hasn’t leapt at the chance.

It’s not the first time in his life that Connor doesn’t have the right answer, and just like every other impossible choice, Connor isn’t even sure that there is a right way to go about this. He can take his letter to his parents, the people who had him unwound in the first place. He can be the bigger person and forgive them for wanting him clinically dismembered. Maybe, after time, they’ll even be able to move on from it and grow back together again.

Or, far more tempting still, Connor can let his resentment stand as firm and impenetrable as a fortress. This is the choice that calls to him the most. Why should he forgive them? It’s up to his parents to reach out to them first, even if they have no idea if he’s still alive nor how to contact them. Connor is not the one who wanted his own flesh and blood unwound. There’s no reason for the responsibility of breaching the immovable gap between himself and his family to fall on his shoulders.

Still, the Objective Right Thing to do is to give them the letter. Connor knows this, in a shifting, sinking feeling in his stomach, like when you tell your first big lie as a kid even though you know it’s wrong. Connor should meet his parents again. Probably.

Problem is, he doesn’t want to. The anger may not be as white-hot as it had been when Connor first found out he was going to be unwound, but it’s still there, simmering beneath his skin like a stovetop that wasn’t turned off properly. He isn’t going to burn down the house, not yet, but the possibility is there.

Risa would support him in this, Connor knows that. She immediately advocated against it, citing the immense risk posed by leaving their hiding place in Sonia’s basement. She doesn’t know the conflict in Connor’s heart quite as well as the terror of getting caught by the Juvenile Authority, though. She never had a family to love and loathe like this, and although Connor hates to say it, this will be the one time her advice won’t be as picture perfect as usual.

Sonia can sense this hesitation, and she’s been even pushier than usual in an attempt to convince him to visit his parents. At one point earlier today, Connor was helping her bring down some groceries when she asked him again when he was planning on leaving.

“I’m not going,” Connor had complained angrily, and immediately felt like a kid throwing a temper tantrum because his favorite shirt was in the wash or something stupid like that. So many unwinds here would kill for a chance to see their parents again, and here he is practically frothing at the mouth at the thought of it.

Sonia had raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing, for once. Connor had lugged the last of the bags down and sat in silence, fuming, until he finally cooled off again. He feels bad for snapping at Sonia like that, especially when she’s risking her life for him by harboring unwinds right underneath her shop, but not bad enough to deliver the letter.

Sonia doesn’t usually check up on them during the day, electing to preserve her ruse by manning the counter of the antique shop, so Connor assumes he’ll have all day to practice an apology before she checks up on them after closing time. Maybe he’ll write her a letter. He could both thank her for shoving him in her basement for so many weeks and also say he’s sorry for being an ass. He probably owes a lot of people similar letters. He’s been an ass many times.

Connor is idly monitoring the sounds upstairs, waiting to tell when Sonia will come down again so he can have his statement ready, when he first hears the loud thump. Noise isn’t uncommon up above; customers buying large objects can be heard huffing and puffing as they drag their purchases to the door. However, this sounds wrong. The voices Connor makes out through the dusty floorboards don’t sound like people ogling antiques. One of them sounds cruel, and the other, Sonia, sounds distorted somehow, unlike herself. They’re too quiet for him to hear, but none of it can be good. Then Sonia lets out a cry of pain, and Connor knows for certain that something is wrong.

All of the other runaways in the basement perk up. Fight or flight senses are always amplified among AWOLs. Connor silently gestures for them to back away from the cellar entrance, holding a finger to his lips. This could be a Juvey-cop, so they can’t risk exposing Sonia through too many sounds. Risa picks up a wrench, testing its weight experimentally, and Connor and the others follow suit. Whatever’s going on up there, it can’t hurt to have a weapon.

They wait in tense, painful silence, and then there’s a softer thump from above as the rug is flipped off of the trapdoor and Sonia shouts down for Lev of all people to come up and help her with something. Lev isn’t here, he hasn’t been near Sonia’s shop at all. Sonia knows this, and she’s well aware that the kids know this, too.

Connor’s eyes widen as he puts it together. This is a trap, obviously. Risa, sensing the same thing, grabs a small, blond kid (Jack, maybe? Connor tried not to learn their names. Unfamiliarity makes it easier to lose them) and starts to push him up the stairs, promising that she’ll be right behind him. Connor moves to join her but Risa stops him with a single harsh look.

“Don’t you dare even poke your head out,” she urges in a terse whisper. “Whoever’s here is probably only looking for you. Don’t make a sound.”

Connor would like to argue with this, but he knows she’s right. Odds are somebody saw him through a storefront window or something after closing. It’s not right to let Risa fight his battles for him, but maybe the intruder will leave if they don’t see the Akron AWOL. It’s not lost on him that Risa and the blond boy might get taken away anyway all for the sake of covering for him, but Risa’s not taking no for an answer, and she’s gone within a moment.

Connor paces back and forth, unsuccessfully trying not to let his panic show. Beau, one of the latest wannabe top dog types, starts prying at a window in the back, which is good. Odds are, they’ll need a second way out of here than just the trapdoor. Connor is about to pitch in and help when he hears a gunshot up above, followed by an agonized cry by Risa, and then all bets are off. Risa’s plea for him to stay hidden is gone from his head. If his worst fears are true– if she was shot, if she was dead– nothing matters anymore.

Connor bounds up the stairs two at a time, emerging into utter chaos. The blond kid is crumpled on the ground, a mess of blood and gore coating his chest. A grungy man is standing over his body holding a real gun, not just a tranq. Risa is beating him with a wrench, but he throws her off of him the second Connor appears. The man’s face cracks into a leering grin, and Connor realizes that he knows this man. It’s Nelson, the cop he shot so long ago.

Worse than that, it’s not just Nelson. Half of his face has been replaced with unwound flesh. Connor discovers with a sickening lurch of his stomach that he knows the donor, too. That’s the good side of Argent Skinner’s face isn’t it? Come to think of it, Connor hasn’t seen Grace in a little while, too. He silently hopes she’s alright, then shuts off every part of his brain that isn’t wired to defend himself. Nelson looks crazy. He has to be ready for anything.

Nelson lets out a slow, cackling laugh. “Connor Lassiter. In the flesh.”

“Nelson. In somebody else’s flesh.” Connor mimics. “What did you do to Argent Skinner?”

Nelson rolls his eyes elaborately. “He got in the way. I think his fate is obvious, isn’t it? I needed new skin. He needed to learn his lesson. No one crosses me and gets away with it. You��ve been on the run for a long time, but I’ve caught up to you at last. I always catch my prey.”

To the side, Risa is slowly getting to her feet, but there’s a gash opening up on her temple. Behind her, Sonia is chained to a chair, obviously in pain. Only Connor can save them. Only Connor can save himself.

Nelson starts to glance over at Risa, following Connor’s line of sight, so Connor quickly speaks up again to distract him. “So what, are we going to fight again? Boring, but let’s get on with it. Do you want to get out your tranq gun for old time’s sake? Maybe I’ll shoot you again. They might give me a new nickname for that.”

Nelson actually growls in anger. “I’m not interested in tranq guns, Connor. A permanent solution is better for you.”

He’s still holding the gun he just used to kill the blond boy, and Connor realizes with a sinking lurch that Nelson is planning on utilizing it for a second kill. This time, Nelson isn’t leaving until the job is done. Sure, it would be good to collect the payout of grabbing the Akron AWOL, but this is personal. Nelson can make up any excuse he wants about why Connor forced his hand. In the end, this is about Connor repeatedly humiliating the guy, costing him his job, his life, his flesh and bone, everything. One of them is walking away from this, not both. Perhaps neither of them. Looking up at Nelson, Connor finally knows:  this is where it all ends.

“That’s fine with me.” Connor tells him. “I’d like to get rid of you, too.”

He briefly considers going for the ‘nice socks’ distraction, but, afraid of having used it one too many times, Connor decides to ignore the pleasantries and just get going. There’s a table of antiques next to him; Connor grabs the closest heavy object, a brass candlestick, and lobs it at Nelson’s head. The former Juvey-cop manages to duck, but not entirely, and the metal clips him on the temple.

Nelson grunts in pain and angrily points the gun towards Connor, who frantically hurls himself to the floor. The shot misses, shattering a glass cabinet and sending the contents showering to the floor. Connor picks himself up and sprints away, hoping Nelson’s more interested in him than staying to finish off Risa and Sonia.

Luckily, the guy’s got blinders on for anything that isn’t his least favorite AWOL, and Nelson gives chase immediately. Unluckily, this means that more bullets are directed Connor’s way. He skids through a series of small displays, using the advantage of a few tight corners to remove himself from Nelson’s immediate line of vision, then ducks into a hiding space below a desk. There, he waits, one hand clamped over his mouth so Nelson can’t hear him breathing.

Nelson stalks slowly from room to room, Connor can hear the thud of his boots against the ground. “Come out, Connor,” Nelson calls, “Let’s settle this like men. You can’t hide forever.”

Maybe not, but he can certainly push off more fighting as long as he can. Nelson was a cop once, he’s got way more combat training than Connor. Connor’s only hope is to stay one step ahead and confuse him into letting down his guard. There’s no way he’s winning a direct fistfight, so Connor has to be as difficult as possible. 

Something dense thuds on the ground, then the glug of liquid pouring out follows the sound. Connor has no idea what that could be, but there’s no mistaking the subsequent click of a lighter. “If you won’t come out on your own, I have no problem smoking you out. I hear that’s best when taking care of rats. You have to burn down their nest to kill the young.”

Connor does not know much about rats, nor the proper method of extermination, but at this moment he doesn’t like any of it. Nelson is just as stuck in here as Connor if the antiques shop goes up in flames, but Connor realizes with a sinking feeling that Nelson doesn’t care about getting out if Connor doesn’t either. As long as Connor dies first, Nelson is happy. 

Connor, however, needs his friends to stay alive. He rolls out from under the desk to find Nelson crossing over the threshold of the room. The former Juvey-cop bares his teeth in a grin. “See, there you are. I knew you’d let your feelings get in the way of your own self preservation.”

He holds up the lighter triumphantly over a slick of what might be rubbing alcohol or gasoline. Connor tries to stay cool, but his hands twitch at his sides. “Easy, man. You don’t want to blow yourself up, too.”

“How considerate of you to think about me,” Nelson muses. “I won’t return the favor.”

With that, he drops the lighter. The liquid immediately erupts into flames, streaking out of the room and into the next with lightning speed. Connor shouts in despair, but it’s too late. He can only hope that Risa was able to get Sonia out, that the unwinds in the basement could get the window open. Hope is all he has left. That, and the undeniable anger coursing through his veins. Nelson wants to play with fire, does he? Connor is more than willing to follow suit.

He’s not stupid enough to start a fight in a burning house, so he runs for the back door, which opens up into a barren grassy patch hemmed in by a fence. Good; Connor doesn’t want Nelson running. If Connor is the only one that survives the fire, he will make sure Nelson pays for it.

Connor makes it out the door first, so he has enough time to pick up a rock and hurl it at Nelson’s head as the Juvey-cop chases him out. This time, Nelson doesn’t duck, and the man cries out in pain as the rock connects directly with his left eye. Whatever Unwind’s eyeball ended up in Nelson’s face, he hopes that they’re not aware of the injury. He wants only Nelson to feel the agony of the blood welling up in the ruined socket.

Nelson clutches the bloody wound, swearing at Connor. “Do you know how costly those things can get on the black market? I’ll have to replace it with yours to even things out.”

“Try it. See what happens,” Connor dares him, and lunges for the man.

Nelson’s sense of balance is still impacted by the blow to the head, so Connor manages to tackle him around the middle before Nelson is even aware that he’s attacking. They roll around on the ground for a little bit, exchanging punches back and forth, before Connor is able to force him onto his back. From there, it’s easy to keep him pinned and rain blows upon his face. 

He used to get in fights a lot before the unwind order, it’s all coming back to him now. Nelson tries to shove the barrel of the gun towards Connor, but Connor knocks it out of his hand in an instant. The man’s face is almost unrecognizable by now, but Connor isn’t done yet. This man is responsible for so many teenagers being unwound, doesn’t he deserve this punishment? He, too, should be in pieces. Connor can arrange that.

Nelson tries to shout something, but the words come out garble and broken around his swollen tongue. It’s going to attract attention, if the inferno behind them hasn’t brought scrutiny already. To shut him up, Connor wraps his hands around Nelson’s throat and starts to squeeze. It’s easy at first, just a matter of applying pressure. One of his hands– the right one, Connor thinks, but he’s not entirely aware of the difference nor why it should matter– tries to back out, but Connor redoubles his efforts. Nelson is not getting away. Not this time. Not ever.

It takes Connor a long time to realize that the man is no longer moving. Longer still to realize why. Connor has never killed someone before. He didn’t think he could, but. Sometimes we learn things about ourselves later than we expect.

Connor falls to his knees, leaning back slightly as he stares at his handiwork. His heart beats an urgent, irregular beat, telling him what he has known for a while now but is certain of today:  he is a terrible, terrible person. Lev wouldn’t blow up Happy Jack, even Roland couldn’t kill, but Connor could. There are no lines he would not cross, no boundaries he cannot push. He is, at last, well and truly feral. No wonder the world wants him in pieces.

People are starting to emerge from their houses, attracted by the glow of the fire and the jumbled shouts of the fight. Connor is sheltered by the fence and hedges for now, but soon they’ll come for him and find the bloodied corpse of the former Juvey-cop. There are very few people who would mourn for Jasper T. Nelson, if there are indeed any at all, but any witnesses will see a dead man and a living killer and know who is worse off at the moment. The dead rest. The living do not.

Risa finds him first. She skids over the ground to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Dimly, Connor is reminded of tackling Nelson to the ground, one rough arm against his throat, but this is Risa, this is different, this has to be different. Not everything in this world brings death. Still, it’s hard to remember now.

“It’s over,” Risa breathes against his ear, “It’s over. Let’s go home.”

Connor isn’t looking at her, though, he’s watching the flecks of burning paper float down around him like snow. In his head, he’s a kid again, bundled up in a parka and too-big snow boots. He’ll grow into them; so will his brother, in a few years. Now Lucas gets new clothes and Connor gets nothing at all. Lucas has had two winters now of being the first one to run out into the yard in the fresh snow, of sinking the first boot prints into the endless expanse of white, and Connor hopes to God he’s loved it.

Connor stretches out a shaking, blood-spattered hand and picks up one of the pieces. It’s an envelope, the contents either ripped away in the wind or already burnt to bits. Right now, the delivery address is damn near indistinguishable from the coarse ash rubbed against it, but Connor can pick out the words by heart:

Claire & Kirk Lassiter

3048 Rosenstock Road

Columbus, Ohio 43017

As he watches, the smoke from one corner of the envelope picks up into a spark, which turns into a flame that gnaws away the words one by one. Like unwinding, his mind whispers. Each letter ripped away to some new fate. Risa has to pluck the quickly burning paper out from between his fingers so Connor doesn’t scorch himself. He doesn’t even notice the flames are at his flesh until a dull, throbbing ache some time later.

Connor is still in Ohio. He’s within driving distance of his house, but there is something Connor has known from the moment he came back here, from the moment Sonia put that letter in his hands again, from the moment he throttled Nelson until the light left his eyes:  he can never go back. That house is for the whole, and although Connor still has possession of all of his limbs, he cannot ever be described as such again. He is not his father’s son. He is not his mother’s boy. If there was ever a Connor who could return to the Lassiter family, he is not the one who just strangled a man to death. There is no place in Ohio that Connor can ever return to again.

“No,” Connor chokes out, half-gagging on the wet slurry of ash and blood in his mouth, “No. I have no home.”

Risa’s saying something soothing about how that’s not true, he’ll always have her, and they’ll find a way, they always have, but he’s not listening anymore. Instead, Connor’s face is tilted back, letting the sun wash over the gouges on his cheeks, his split lip, the bruises already flowering under his skin. He stares once into that blinding light, then snaps his eyes shut. 

The elder Lassiter boy is dead. Only Connor remains.

requested by @bopeisdope, i hope you enjoy!

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[i-am-q]

SOME CLARIFICATION

NOT ALL NAZIS ARE SLAVE MASTERS AND NOT ALL SLAVE MASTERS ARE NAZIS

NAZI LESBIAN = GAY WOMAN COMMITTING HEINOUS CRIMES EX(s): LIBBY ACKER, KATIE LUCAS, MARY RICHTER, JANET MONTGOMERY

NAZI KIKE = JEWISH PERSON ACTIVELY COMMITTING HEINOUS CRIMES EX(s): JED STONE, RENA ZAID, SHANNON KEATING-ZAID

NAZI NIGGER = BLACK PERSON ACTIVELY COMMITTING HEINOUS CRIMES EX(s): "KID O" TO LEBRON JAMES AND NO ONE ELSE, THE MAYOR OF TOWNSVILLE (NOT THE MAYOR OF AKRON)

NAZI WETBACK = LATINO/A PERSON ACTIVELY COMMITTING HEINOUS CRIMES EX(s): LUCIANA RIVERA MOLINA & HER ARMY OF "BRATZ DOLLS"

NAZI FAG = GAY/BISEXUAL MAN ACTIVELY COMMITTING HEINOUS CRIMES EX(s): PETER MCPIKE, ANTHONY DAVID SCIACCA

NAZI TRANNY = A TRANSGENDER PERSON MAN ACTIVELY COMMITTING HEINOUS CRIMES EX(s): THE TRANNY FROM SANTA CRUZ, AUBREY GRAHAM

NAZI NAZI = AN ADMITTED NAZI / ANTISEMITE ACTIVELY COMMITTING HEINOUS CRIMES EX(s): SARAH STREET, MACKENZIE MCPIKE

SOS -O

EDIT: GAY/BISEXUAL/TRANSGENDER PEOPLE, JEWISH PEOPLE, BLACK PEOPLE, LATINO/A PEOPLE, AND ANTISEMITES (OLD WORLD NAZIS) ARE NOT NEW AGE NAZIS.

ALL THE LESBIANS ARE NEW WORLD NAZIS. CHECK THE SANTA CRUZ DIALOGUE.

[freshthoughts2020]

[usafphantom2]

My father was picked by a computer in 1964 to become a candidate for a new position, called the reconnaissance systems officer in the new SR-71.

He was picked because of his outstanding bomb record in the B-58. He was the first man interviewed by Doug Nelson at Little Rock Air Force Base home of the 43rd wing of the B-58 because he had walking pneumonia; Colonel Nelson interviewed him first, took him into a small closet, and asked him these questions: would you be willing to fly over Russia or China and are you a volunteer?

The Sheffield family was the first SR 71 family to arrive at Beale Air Force Base March of 1965. My Dad was picked not because he knew someone important. He didn’t know anyone. He came from a small town in Ohio called Rootstown. His father worked at the Goodyear rubber plant in Akron, Ohio. The first group were all like Dad, and they knew what an honor it was to be selected. This was a noble calling. They put the love of their country first in their life. These men were sincere, and their word was so honorable that you knew it was a solemn promise that they would rather die before they revealed it. You could just feel feel the goodness of these men trust honor, faithful, noble, confident, and humility. The tradition of selecting, the very best was continued throughout the whole program.

I would go to basketball and baseball games to watch my Dad and his coworkers play. I was shocked at how aggressive Daddy was. He didn’t act like that at home. They were all aggressive men .

These men knew how to handle social situations expertly. I would go to the officers club with my parents occasionally. Who could turn down a colored TV in the lobby near the bar at the Beale Air Force Base officers club with all the Shirley Temples (7-Up with grenadine ) with cherries on top that I could possibly drink. My friends lived near by they were mostly SR 71 pilots and RSO‘s children. I spent a lot of time eating dinner with them, watching TV , going to the bowling alley, going on picnics, running down the street to Ryan Park. Stopping by the Vicks, the Jarvis’s, the McCallum’s and Payne’s last, but not least I practically lived at Janet Payne’s house.

When I was a teenager, I hung out with Kent and Sherry Collins I would babysat for the younger kids in family. I didn’t know that their father Ken Collins’s was an A-12 pilot turned SR-71 pilot until many years later. I’m sure the postman was confused as an another Collins lived across the street. Charles “Pete” Collins SR-71 Pilot and his wife Shirley and kids Petey, Kim and Kathy they moved back after being away for a year, and now lived across the street from us.

The neighbors and my parents all came around with bottles of liquor. It was getting kind of late and they were getting rather noisy. I thought it would be funny to call the police on them. Just to see what they would do. I had my friend Jeff Anderson, deepen his voice and call the police from my kitchen. The police quickly came. I didn’t know that the phones were bugged. The base police assumed that the call came from my father not from one of his daughter’s friends . Jeff and I and a few other friends that had stopped by were hiding behind the bushes . The police said I heard there was a disturbance up here. As the two young police officers looked at the sidewalk with spilled liquor and bottles everywhere and four couples sitting in the grass !

Ken Collins quickly gets up approach the police car I said “You can move on now we took care of it.” I waited about 25 years before I told my mother that I was the one that instigated the call to the police. I think she was still thinking about putting me on restriction. Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[instructionsonback]

[venusdenighlo]

Alright Chapter 1 of the thing is finished, hopefully I'll write chapter 2 tomorrow

This is it. Their final day whole had come. They had no idea of what was happening in the nation’s capital, as the triplicates were signed when the Stork Brigade was the most pressing issue in the news, out of fear that they would somehow run away from home & join the group. Sixmile Harvest Camp was notoriously underfunded and the facilities showed it, instead of the expected recreations, campers were expected to work at a local turf farm, but to Noel, none of that mattered now that they were being driven in a golf cart to the adequately named “Shed of Doom''. A Tithe would be joining Noel for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, to Noel’s dismay. The band stood on the roof of the male dormitory building, playing a poor cover of The Weekend’s prewar hit “Blinding Lights”. Noel’s grown to hate that song after their dad signed the unwinding order, so imagine the nightmare it is to hear it right before your division, it's as if the universe is taunting you. “I love this song.” says the Tithe, “I hate this song.” replies Noel, quieting the probably baptist “Quiet.” the counselor finally says after staying quiet the whole journey. Just then, the counselor’s cell rang, the counselor answered with a “Hello?”. After about 15 seconds of the voice on the other end chattering away, the counselor abruptly yelled out “What? Scott signed it?”, confusing Noel & the tithe. The only newsworthy ‘Scott’ Noel knew of was President Rahil Scott, a known opponent to unwinding, despite the cards stacked against him in congress. With a sigh, the counselor hangs up the phone and looks back at the teenagers. “Well kids, turns out the Akron AWOL is alive and has just gotten the government to ban unwinding, so I guess you’re free to go?”  “...What?” Noel finally says, after a solid 2 minutes of silence from both them and the Tithe. “Do you want me to drop you guys off at the gate or something?” “Yes please.” says the Tithe, whose voice is becoming increasingly annoying for Noel. After a surprisingly awkward ride to the front gate, the two kids get off the golf cart & exit the harvest camp, something neither of them thought they would do as themselves. “I’m Lucius, by the way.” the tithe says, as if Noel cared about his name. “It seems as if I’m stuck with you, Lucius, since I’m definitely not going home and it’s too far to walk anywhere. Want to catch a train?” “Where are we going?” asked Lucius “DC, New York, Denver, all depends on what train we board.” Noel responds. “Well, how are we going to buy tickets? We didn't get any money.”

“Who the fuck said anything about buying tickets?”

[beardedmrbean]

“It’s fascist to eliminate DOE!” Americans are considered some of the most illiterate people and lack critical thinking skills on the planet since the DOE was made.

Boys are INTENTIONALLY throw under the bus since the public school system is purposely designed for girls style of learning. Fuck I’m 23 and I realize I only got any form of support because of my skintone.

And what we been getting, hmm, kids don’t know how to do taxes. We barely have any cooking lessons unless your lucky af. Most Americans can only read at a 3rd grade level and oh the big ones.

Teachers unions are corrupted af and we have rampant child sex abuse issues where 1 in 10 students REPORTED sexual misconduct. And how many headlines that boils down to “Teacher raped a male student” in one year alone?

And I’m African American, now I didn’t grow up in the inner cities. But I known the government don’t give two fucks about me(I live in the Chicago area too)

What wrong destroying the DOE? People call American schools a hell on earth and we been getting more stupid since the government interference. Oh shit I forgot, how many boys were overdrugged again? Sorry I don’t have Stockholm syndrome towards schools

2013 not sure if there's anything more recent this was the one that popped up when I was looking for something different for that post

You'll notice that adjusted for inflation there is three times the money being spent per student now than there was in 1970 with a fairly static level on scoring, but you know that whole definition of insanity trying the same thing and expecting different results doesn't count when it comes to my tax dollars apparently.

There are understandable newer things that will increase the monetary need like ADA compliance, computers, and meal programs (which I wholeheartedly support, kids shouldn't go hungry drop the obama one tho I don't support that one it's garbage and kids were still hungry, how bad does it have to be for a kid to skip out on some of what might be all they eat that day) and various other improvements and such, big fan of air conditioning myself.

Still shouldn't triple the dollar number,

Also for the record the DOE was formed in 1979 so the numbers were already going up for spending when it came in.

Data presented to the Akron, Ohio, school board revealed not a single student from the school’s inaugural third-grade class — now entering eighth grade — has ever passed the state’s math test. “It is discouraging,” said Keith Liechty-Clifford, the district’s director of school improvement, in a model of understatement. State test scores in English and science are nearly as bad, and Black students at I Promise test in the bottom 5% of all Black students in Ohio.

Nice to see the people there making excuses instead of taking responsibility too, one more lesson in failure from this school.

I do hope they can figure it out though, I still have hopes for this one.

But if you've been around here for more than a few months you'll likely know I have hopes for everything to be better, I try to be very bright side oriented.

and in that vein, at least these kids get 3 hots 5 days a week maybe more so that's a W, less hungry kids is always a W