#there's plenty of reasons people get GEDs

[queer-reader-07]

overheard some guys in my calc class saying a GED is "only a degree felons get. it's embarrassing if you have one." and then they made fun of people who dropped out of high school

and boy that was not what i needed to hear today

[unofficial-sean]

Every time my dad visits, I struggle to understand him. I struggle to assess our common understandings. I struggle to interact with him in a meaningful way.

I used to be a car person. I used to dream up the cars I'd own and what mods I would have on them. I'd try them out in Forza, and this is what drove me to get my GED and become a mechanic. I was obsessed. This worked well with my dad because I'd reckon most white guys are car people, too, to some degree. I was enriched with tools for gifts and our time spent talking was almost always about cars and motorcycles.

But that was before. Now, I'm focused on a deeply personal mission to make my community's HVAC system as efficient as possible; arrived at by personally seeking knowledge over years and years, and also running breathlessly into the world of cars and being knocked on my ass by the intolerance of the people in that world.

I got swept up in the mystical world of radios, which paired well with my dad, as well, who got his technician license shortly after I did, because wireless communication appealed to his sense of independence.

Instead of running face-first into hyper-masculinity, I ran into a door too small to squeeze into. Being a radio technician was not to be.

So, I moved onto biology. Also something my dad is interested in. He likes trees and has plenty of urban wildlife stories. But he is over 50, and a few months ago, I taught him that trees actually consume oxygen at night as part of cellular respiration; it was news to him. Biology wasn't to be, either; I was overwhelmed by the workload placed on my by college and I burnt out.

So here I am, now. I've tried on many costumes. I've learned a little in a lot of places. I've sought out a role for myself to fill. I lost interest in cars and motorcycles. I'm always fascinated by life, but I can't focus on it anymore. Radios are always cool, but there's no one to talk to; or any reason to. I'm terrified of diving.

So I have HVAC, now. It's the current costume I'm wearing. I have a moral mission informed by my experiences roasting in the summer and by my ever-increasing knowledge of the climate crisis. It's all I can do. In my free time, I care for my frogs, I play single-player video games, I prepare for D&D with my club. I dream a lot, too. I don't have any partners, in part because I don't know where to meet my people, and in part because I've lost interest in others, but if I did. . . I just know my family would be weird about it at best.

I don't know how to fit either of my parents into my life, if I'm honest. There's no place for them. There's nothing they can do to enrich it. When I'm around them, I feel tense. I don't want to say the wrong thing. I don't want to hear how far apart we are.

My dad took my brother and I to a car museum. I loathe cars, now. I drive one, sure. But I don't care for them. I learned that there's a completely different way of living, and I desire it dearly; why would there be any ounce of love left for them? But I go anyways, because on some level, I have to. The museum stinks of oily rags. It is a familiar smell, but one that now gives me a headache. I do a circuit, then head outside to breathe in the somewhat-fresh air. I say somewhat because the museum is next to I-5, and the tire noise erases anything sweeter that may have once been in its place.

I walk around the side to look at the building's massive outdoor units; two big, 6-comrpessor, 460v AC + boiler units. I am amazed that the compressors have a locked-rotor amp rating of 125. Can you imagine? I spied a mini-split system, too. A Mitsubishi. It uses R-410A and has a base refrigerant weight of 6oz. For every additional 25 feet of line, though, you must add 0.6 oz of refrigerant to it. There is a spot on the label for the installer to record the total weight of refrigerant in the system after install. It is left blank. Poor practice. Anyone servicing it, now, must estimate it by measuring the lines, if they can access them.

I'm supposed to be spending time with my dad, but instead I'm outside, alone. I don't wanna look at old cars who spewed lead into the atmosphere and probably killed their drivers just as often as they killed bystanders. I don't want to see the machines that my world was built around.

The museum has a section on fossil fuels and climate change. I half-expected to see some denial or distortion of history. No doubt there was some, but it's the solution to these issues that annoyed me the most. In essence, the plaques and exhibits said "let's make use of biofuels, hybrids, and electric cars to minimize emissions; and lets use renewable energy sources to reduce the carbon footprint of automobile manufacturing." fucking what. You wanna keep making cars? Unbelievable.

There was not a single mention of reducing car-dependency or electrified rail. My headache got worse. What did I expect? Car people are going to find a way to keep cars in their place.

What does this have to do with my dad? In a way, he's a barometer for sentiments on certain things. He still thinks I'm interested in internal combustion engines. I hate them. I hate their noises and their fumes. I know precisely how they work, and I could fix a broken one, but I despise what they represent and I just wish they would go away. I wish they weren't the topic of conversation anymore.

I'm tired of grave stakes and the horrors of the world. I want to feel hope again. I want to meet people who share my goals. I want to talk about a thriving future. But fuck, it is hard to do in Tacoma. I want to put a heat hump in every home. I want my tools to be part of a tool-sharing program. I want enough resources to contribute to mutual aid. I want electrified public transit so I can get rid of my car. I want bike infrastructure so I can use the damn thing to get around. I want empty parking lots torn up and replaced with green spaces.

I want to be part of it all and I want to talk with the people who already are. And instead I have my family and everyone else in this city. I'm too afraid to speak, lest I risk showing that I don't know enough. Too afraid to tell my dad I'm not interested in these things anymore because then we will have NOTHING. That will be very sad.

I'm tired. I put together a playlist of things to give me hope because I am trudging through a depression, again. Putting them on in the background while I click through Baldur's Gate 3 again because I can't sleep, but I don't have the brain power to write out my next session or do something bold and creative. I'm soulsapped.

Tomorrow will be the last time my niece celebrates her birthday in this state. She, her brother, and my sister are all moving to Illinois. We'll be at our grandparent's place. It is being referred to as the "last time we'll all be together." Grandpa's health is failing. He's about to be in hospice, if he isn't already. On one hand, I should be there just for the sake of it. I know I'd want as many people around if i was dying. Grandpa's always been cooler than his wife. She's the true reason I don't want to go. I don't like being around her.

I don't like all the "God Bless America" shit in her home. What is there to be proud of? I'm getting off track.

There's no point in raising my voice. I must be a neutral vessel everywhere I go. This is the only place I can ever express myself. Outside, I weight my guilt against my desire to push them all away. It is those days where I am compelled to spend time with family where I feel the most trapped.

[histrionicfit]

*happy because you answered my asks*

Okey. Various things:

1) I'm getting informed about this pd, and I usually find that people with it are overly extroverted and dramatic/theatrical. Is it a requirement?

2) Gender stereotypes and diagnosis of hpd... I've read that this pd is usually more diagnosed in females, and that the most characteristic symptoms of this disorder are usually more associated with the female gender. For this reason, there is an underdiagnosis of hpd in the male population... Do you have more information about this?

3) I'm aware that some studies (actually, just one study) classifies HPD in subtypes, but I can't find enough information about it:\

4) Thanks for existing <3 How has your day been? Any news?

- ☣️

1) not necessarily, at least as far as extroversion goes. personally, im actually petrified of strangers due to paranoia. but, on the other hand, once ive deemed someone as "safe" i will be very theatrical and talkative. also, i will say to keep in mind you don't need to meet *every* criteria for HPD. the main thing with HPD is the excessive need to be the center of attention. past that, you can have any mix and match of 5+ of the HPD criteria

2) i don't necessarily have more information on hand about that, but i do have plenty of opinions. to me it goes hand in hand with NPD being viewed primarily as a male disorder. HPD tends to be seen as female NPD, despite the major differences in criteria. to me it's just sexism, plain and simple. because, of COURSE a man who wants attention would be charming and manipulative and only accept praise, whereas a feeble woman will take any scraps of attention no matter how negative and degrading! (major sarcasm)

3) yeah, there isn't much *actual* information about subtypes. to me subtypes are just helpful as they break down presentation, similar to bpd subtypes. both are informal, and aren't diagnostic tools. so of course subtypes should be taken with a grain of salt.

4) aw ty<3 my day has been pretty ok!! i haven't done much yet, but i started a bit of an upcycling project due to intense boredom with my clothes. most exciting news i currently have is that im starting ged classes soon! which i actually plan to make a stand alone post about that topic.

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 7.2

What were the options? How could she keep her friend from slipping all the way into this world, when it was so enticing, filled with things that were one hundred percent Verona’s jam?

I'm not entirely sure you can. And I'm even less sure you should try. Pretty much all the reasons Lucy's come up with to pull Verona back have been focused on future shared experiences. I don't think there's much in the mundane world for Verona beyond Lucy and Avery. And those are connections she doesn't have to lose in getting deeper into being a practitioner. Staying in this world, maybe going full time to the Blue Heron Institute, seems like a good compromise between staying home and becoming Other.

The only complication is that mean she wouldn't be in Kennet, or beside Lucy and Avery, for most of the year. I guess if they work out some transportation, Verona comes home on weekends, the other girls go to BHI as well over the summer and maybe winter break? But I worry that holding Verona back from a life she loves this much will cause a lot of resentment down the line.

But going to the BHI full time, while Lucy stays in Kennet, is going to affect their friendship. It doesn't sound like they've ever been separate for longer than a vacation, and they would be going from spending full school days together, five days a week, plus plenty of time after school and on weekends. Losing the sheer amount of time they've had together would be a major adjustment. Feeling like something's missing, not being able to share every thought that crosses your mind, watching the other person build up a life you don't know.

The thing is, long term this happens to most people. It would probably have happened to them! After high school, at least in my experience, people scatter when going to colleges, and then again after college when they find work. At least then, mostly you've known it was coming for a while. And Lucy and Verona would be making this separation younger, when I think it hurts more.

But even if it changes things, it doesn't necessarily make them worse. A long distance friendship is going to be different from one lived together. But it doesn't have to mean that those connections fade. It doesn't mean those connections can't grow deeper with time and maturity! It would be a departure from the life Lucy pictured for the two of them. But I think a life with Verona happy would be worth it.

... Anyways.

All that said, Verona should still work on getting the Canadian equivalent of a GED. Always good to have options.

“Their dad isn’t a big goblin mage?” “Some.  And many other things.  There’s a reason they haven’t called him.”

Personal reasons, or his form of practice would be ill-suited to this?

If we stick her with this we can send her home easily enough.  Shall we see about having a conversation with her?

Now the question is if Liberty stays calm enough to not get kicked out even though she didn't do it. Or maybe she could turn it around on them? If they come in too strong with accusations, or kick her out unjustly.

“Who sent you?  For the third time, I compel you to answer!  I have bound goblins innumerable.  I have authority enough.  By ancient laws, you cannot refuse me.” “I sent myself!  I am not bound by anything except this chain."

well that's a benefit of asking for help rather than binding someone to serve you. Much less incriminating.

Other goblins were emerging now. The one Avery had mentioned, with its brain in one end of a clear balloon, stuck in one ear and out the other.

I see that Avery didn't mention that the balloon was a condom

“Use tricks like that to block us, we’ll throw Nicolette at them again and again.  She likes you, but maybe if we make her face your defenses like this enough times, she’ll change her mind.”

ooh. low blow

“I don’t think I can draw plain circles anymore,” Lucy said.  “Or it’s harder.”

hmm. that could present some difficulties. I guess part of the benefits of being three is that Verona or Avery can handle things that need basic circles

“You were never ‘plain’,” Verona said.  “You had style, flourish.  You wore nice clothes and had the best hair in class.”

maybe not quite the time, but sentiment appreciated

This was so much better than her last therapist.  It felt more like a conversation, but it wasn’t like conversations with Verona or even Avery, where it could sometimes feel like she was walking uphill every step of the way.

wildbow likes good therapists

[ravagedarkness]

Spider-Man: Home Rebuilt, Chapter 33: Guy In The Chair

The call turned out to be a session in and of itself. It wasn’t anything major. It was an introductory session of sorts. But, still, I felt like I was already feeling progress. It wasn’t a lot of progress per se. I guess it was like… a baby learning to stand up.

“Well, let’s start with a bit of an introduction,” Jericho began over the phone. “I know some therapists tend to charge for the intake session, but I tend to give those free of charge for people in a certain line of work.” I had a feeling that the line of work in question was being a costumed hero. “With that said, allow me to introduce myself formally. As you already know, I’m Jericho Drumm. I live New Orleans, Louisiana, but I’m originally from Haiti – Port-au-Prince, to be exact. I still go there pretty regularly. Anyway, I have a bachelor’s degree from Xavier University of Louisiana and a master’s degree and doctorate from Tulane University – all in Psychology. I’m certified by the Louisiana State Board of Examiners of Psychologists. I’ve been in this field for about 13 years now – and yes, that includes the Blip Years. As you can probably guess, business was, for unfortunate reasons, very plentiful.”

I raised my eyebrows briefly. “Yeah,” I commented.

“How about yourself?”

“Well… as you know, I’m Peter Parker. I’m… currently working on my GED. Scott Summers is actually my teacher. I do plan on going to college. MIT is my goal. I’m currently living in Manhattan, but I was born in and spent most of my life in Queens, so I consider that my home borough. Beyond that… I’m a freelance photographer for The Daily Bugle… which is ironic since I’m in a certain line of work, where I work with Scott.” I chuckled. “But, yeah, I think that’s about all I can say for now.”

Jericho made a noncommittal sound. “Okay. And why are you seeking therapy?”

“My girlfriend thinks I need professional help and I agree. I’m… I went through a lot these last few years – especially during the last several months. So… yeah.”

“I see. Have you ever been in therapy before?”

“No.”

“And what are you looking for? What do you expect?”

I was given a bit of pause for a moment. I then sighed. “…I don’t know about expectations. What I do hope for is that… maybe I can get to a point where I don’t feel like everything good in my life isn’t going always to slip away or be taken away from me. …Am I making sense?”

“You are,” Jericho said reassuringly. “Since I think we hit the point where we can’t talk much more without revealing certain details, allow me to tell you how things are going to go. Making appointments will be on you. I understand that life is likely extremely busy for you, so I won’t take it personal if you take a lot of time between appointments – I have clients who have had years between appointments. Anyway, once I get your e-mail, I’ll send you a link so we can video chat. Said link is extremely secure, so feel free to be rather open when we do chat. But, for the sake of safety, I’m heavily encouraging you to use a VPN and make sure you’re in a secure place. Also, confidentiality is a two way street with us. Understood?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Good. Now, let’s talk risks and benefits…”

The rest of the day went by as normal. After I made by daily trip to Peter Pan, I went home and gathered my supplies for the study night. Not wanting to risk another encounter with Scorpion, I decided to take an Uber over to MJ’s place.

During the car ride, I sat in the back seat of a yellow Ford Taurus. The driver was listening to a news report on the radio regarding my fight with Scorpion.

“…while no civilians were hurt in the clash, the fight resulted in sizeable property damage, including wrecked cars and a damaged fire hydrant. For better or for worse, the fight between Spider-Man and Scorpion was put to an end when Frictor, another masked vigilante and a member of the group known as the X-Men – which also includes Spider-Man – arrived on the scene and drove Scorpion off with an automatic rifle. Reaction towards the skirmish has been rather polarized on social media. While a lot of people pointed to this fight as another example for the need of The Accords, there has been a lot of pushback from those who believe that Justin Hammer created a problem by making a solution for an issue that didn’t need fixing in the first place…”

The driver sighed as she turned off the radio.

“Serves Scorpion right,” the driver commented, her voice colored with a Jamaican accent.

“I take it you’re not a fan of Scorpion,” I inquired, wanting to make small talk. At that, she scoffed.

“Nah, not even a little bit.” She shook her head. “All Scorpion did was make more trouble. They want to crack down on all of the vigilantes in New York, but they’re the ones helping out in this city. If the government was able to do their job, they would have done so already.” She chuckled. “Besides, Spider-Man has been nothing but good for us. A video ‘proving’ he killed Mysterio is not going to make me think any different.”

I smiled as I looked out the window. “I agree, Miss…”

“Mousie,” she said. I looked up at the rearview mirror to see her gazing back at me. I could tell she was smiling. "Good to see another Spider-Man fan.”

After I was dropped off, I took a moment to give Mousie five stars before I headed up. Once I reached MJ’s door, I knocked on it five times. I lowered my hand and waited. A few moments later, the door opened, revealing MJ on the other side, who was dressed in a black t-shirt with matching sweatpants.

“Hey Dork,” she greeted as she stepped aside.

“Hey Em,” I replied as I walked in. The two of us shared a brief kiss before I started taking off my shoes. “Is Ned here?”

“Yeah, he’s just using the bathroom. We’re set up in the living room, so have a seat.”

I made my way over to the living room. I took a seat on the sofa. On the coffee table was a bowl of nachos, a bowl of queso dip, and two cans of Coca-Cola, along with a couple of textbooks and notebooks. I heard the sound of a fridge opening and closing. I looked over my shoulder to see MJ walking towards me with a can of Coke. She handed the can towards me. I took it graciously.

“Thanks, Em,” I said in earnest.

“Anytime, Loser,” she replied as she took a seat next to me. “So, how was your day?”

“It was… interesting,” I told her. “…There’s a chance I might be in California this upcoming weekend.”

At that this, MJ smiled wryly. “Are you going Hollywood on me?”

I scoffed and shook my head. “No. It’s just… Scott, Craig, and Kitty got a text way early in the morning. There’s a good chance that said text came from Carmilla.”

MJ’s eyebrows furrowed up as she tilted her head. “Who?”

“Carmilla Black. She’s a former X-Men and was actually living with the others about six months before we all met them. And… she’s also Craig’s ex. They had a bit of a falling out. But, the text was written in this code that only Scott, Carmilla, Kitty and Craig know. Craig really wanted to get out there as soon as possible. Problem is the coordinates were in the middle of California’s part of the Sonoran Desert. So, Scott wants to make sure the text is legit before he decides to go out there.”

“Is Craig okay?” MJ asked.

“He will be, I think,” I replied. “He really wants to make sure she’s okay.” I sighed sadly as I remembered the talk Craig and I had on the roof. I then smiled slightly. “On a lighter note, though… I finally found a therapist to talk to.”

“That’s awesome, Loser!” MJ turned in her seat and wrapped her arms around my neck. She pulled me into a tight embrace, which I returned. “Seriously, I’ve been afraid that you’d burn yourself out, with what has been happening recently between you and Scorpion.”

“So was I.” I pulled away a bit, just enough so I could look MJ in the eye. “Fortunately, I had some people save me from my own stupidity.”

At that, MJ scoffed. “We’ll be doing that a lot,” she jested.

“I know you’re joking… but you’re right,” I replied.

“I usually am.” MJ leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine for a brief kiss.

“I’m grateful for that.”

We kissed again. This kiss wasn’t brief. As our lips moved against each other, we both ended up leaning against the backrest and headrest of the sofa. I turned by body, bringing my left knee on the cushion to get more comfortable. Right after that, I got lost in the kiss. I no longer cared about studying. The only thing I cared about at that moment was MJ. The only other thing I was still aware of was the sofa we were on – it could have been picked up by a tornado, and I would neither know nor care.

Unfortunately, we were interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing. We both parted and looked towards Ned, who gave us a halfhearted glare.

“I leave you alone for one minute, and you decided to start a make out session with Peter?” he chided MJ. “We’re here to study Trigonometry, not Anatomy!”

From the corner of my eye, I saw MJ pout. “You and Betty make out around me all the time, but I never say anything!” she shot back.

Ned raised his eyebrows as he leaned forward. “Yes you do! You always do! Just yesterday, you asked Betty what my vocal cords taste like! People were around us! They were grossed out!”

“Well maybe next time, you and Betty won’t start a make out session in the middle of the lunch line! The one time I decide to just get lunch from school, I have to see you and Betty trading spit like Pokémon cards!”

“You’re just mad because Peter’s not on campus with you!”

As the two went back and forth, I just watched them. It was a hilarious sight. But it was also relieving and poignant for me. Once again, I was reminded that I had Ned and MJ back in my life. And that made me happy.

Eventually, we did get to studying. We went over Sum and Difference formulas. We spent about three hours on it, not including the snack breaks we took. I made sure to take great notes – I wanted to be able to test into Calculus when I go to college. After the study session, the three of us got settled in for a movie. MJ wanted something dark and broody. Ned wanted something with action. I decided to split the difference by suggesting New Police Story. After we agreed on it, we all sat on the couch. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Ned was leaned up against my right arm. Meanwhile, MJ was curled up on my lap. It was just like the old days, during the time between MJ and I kissing in London and when The Daily Bugle helped Mysterio posthumously expose me.

It was a beautiful time.

However, things came to an end when the phone vibrated in my pocket. I used the remote to pause the movie before I looked down at MJ.

“Sorry, Sweetie, but I need you to move,” I told her apologetically. She moaned in disappointment, but she moved, sitting up and crossing her arms.

“Someone better be dying,” she deadpanned. I chuckled. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I looked at the cracked screen.

It was Kitty.

I answered the phone and put it to my ear.

“Hello,” I greeted.

“Hey Peter,” she replied. “…Are you alone?”

“No. I’m with Ned and MJ at the moment. Is everything okay?”

“…Sort of. Well, not really. I hit a snag on our group project. I was trying to track down the message we got this morning, but it turns out, the text was sent via e-mail.”

“…Wait, you can do that?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Ned look at me.

“As a matter of fact you can. It’ll take a bit of time, but we’ll figure it out. I just wanted to give you a bit of an update, and…”

“I can help with that,” Ned said aloud.

Kitty was given pause. “Excuse me?”

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker,” I stated before I put the cellphone on speaker and placed it on the coffee table.

“I was saying I can help with that,” Ned continued. “I have some programs in my laptop, and I have it with me. If you want, we can come over to where you guys are at, and I can track down where the email is from.”

“Ned… I know your hacking skills are quite impressive. But I don’t want you or MJ involved in this. The last thing I want you to do is unwittingly do something that’ll put a target on your back.”

“I can handle that, Kitty,” Ned assured. “You know, I hacked Peter’s suit – the one using Stark tech. So, tracking down a text via email shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

“And besides, the more help you get, the quicker you guys can find out what’s going on with Carmilla,” MJ added. I didn’t say anything. I low key agreed with Kitty. I didn’t want Ned and MJ to get hurt. But, Ned is Guy In The Chair, and MJ was… MJ. We were a trio – half the time, wherever one went, we all went.

“…Okay, give me your location – Craig is picking you guys up.”

About thirty minutes later, Craig arrived. We made our way down and piled into his SUV. As he drove, we all remained silent. Craig was listening to music. I would later find out that he was listening to Delusional by Tech N9ne. We knew he was in a certain mood and that it was best that we didn’t try to talk to him, no matter how much I wanted to.

Eventually, we arrived at the garage where the X-Men kept their vehicles. After we exited Craig’s SUV, he beckoned us to follow him with his right hand. He walked over to a set of five light switches that were on a wall. They were all in the off position. Craig flipped them on and off in a certain sequence. After that, I heard the sound of a lock disengaging before a part of the floor opened up.

“A trapdoor?” MJ said.

“Yup,” Craig replied. He walked up to it. We followed him and watched as he made his way down a set of stairs. We descended after him. He stopped briefly at a red button and pressed it. Behind us, the trapdoor closed and locked. He then walked forward. As we followed him, we ended up in somewhat large room. There was a roundtable with chairs, a small counter with a Keurig machine, a fridge, a wooden cabinet, and a computer with three monitors on top of a large desk. Kitty was sitting at the desk, and Scott was at the table, sipping a cup of coffee.

“I got them,” Craig called out, getting the attention of Scott and Kitty.

“Hey guys,” Kitty replied as she turned in her seat. “Welcome to the underground.”

“Do your best to help us,” Scott said to Ned. “But there’ll be no hard feelings if you can’t. Tell us what we need to do.”

“I’m going to need one of your cellphones and a cord,” Ned stated. Craig pulled out his cellphone and walked up to Ned. He handed the device over. After that, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his charger. He pulled the cord out of the charging box and handed it over to Ned. “Thank you." Craig nodded quietly.

Ned walked over to the round table and took a seat. During this, Scott and Kitty stood up from their seats and joined Craig, MJ, and I behind Ned. Ned took a couple of minutes to boot up his laptop. After that, he booted up a couple of programs. One was a custom VPN he often used when he talked with me during my Spider-Man activities prior to The Spell. He took a moment to set the location for Antarctica. After that, he ran another program. This one showed a black and white map of the world covered in red dots.

“What is that?” MJ asked.

“It’s a map of every cell tower on Earth,” Ned replied. “It can also show every server on Earth, too.” After he connected the charging cord to his laptop, Ned connected Craig’s phone to the cord. As the screen on the phone lit up, Craig reached over for it. He tapped in a code, unlocking it. He then went through the settings to allow data transfer for the phone. He backed off after that, letting Ned continue his work. Ned went through Craig’s phone via his laptop before he found the file for Craig’s texts. “Which text are we looking for?”

“It should be the most recent one,” Craig replied.

Ned nodded before he switched programs. Using the program, he went through Craig’s phone again. After pulling up the message, he tapped at the keyboard of his computer a few times before the map was pulled up again. Several of the dots flashed yellow until there were two yellows dots. There was one in California – in the Sonoran Desert region – and one in New York.

“So the text originated from California,” Ned explained. “It reached a cell tower in New York – probably the one closest to where you guys live at.” He looked at Scott, Craig, and Kitty as he did so. “However, you did say it was sent by e-mail. So…” He typed a command into the computer before a green dot lit up. It was also in New York, practically right on top of the yellow dot. “…It looks like the e-mail went through a server in New York.” He typed in a few commands. “…The e-mail originated from the server at these coordinates.”

“Let me see them,” MJ said as she pulled out her phone. She opened up her browser. She then looked back and forth between the screen of the laptop and phone as she typed away at the phone’s screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Googling the coordinates,” she replied. After she was done typing, she looked at the screen of her phone. Her eyes went wide for a bit. She then took in a breath and closed eyes. There was a look of annoyance on her face.

“…Everything okay?” Scott said as everyone looked at her.

“…So, there was a hit on the coordinates.” MJ opened her eyes. “But you guys are not going to like this – at all.”

She placed her phone on the counter. We all looked down at it. My mouth went ajar as I read the Google result.

Hammer Industries.

[gabicna]

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[theofficialmitmcconnell]

TW for miscarriage, teen pregnancy, and ableism

it’s not something i’ve talked about before, but i had an almost full-term pregnancy at 16. the reason i bring this up is that the reason i almost got an abortion (like i changed my mind on the steps of the clinic), was not how incredibly poor the situation was, but because of my autism. the situation to begin with was horrible, i was living with my abusive parents, and the father was also abusive. but i’ve wanted to be a mom for the longest time. the only reason i considered terminating my pregnancy was the fact that the amount of sensory and processing issues i have would’ve made it incredibly hard to parent. there were no resources for parents with autism, and i think i also struggled with my own internalized ableism. most people, including myself at the time in some aspects, see autistic people as unable to be full human beings and people who can and still experience many joys of the different life paths the universe throws them into. my now ex-best friend’s mother, however, told me she was autistic. i sort of guessed, but the fact that she was an amazing mother sort of shot that down. but she was honestly the reason i kept my baby. i ended up dropping out of high school and getting my GED. i moved out at 17, and for several months, this incredible woman let me stay with her while helping me get a job and find a living situation. most people, however, aren’t as lucky. unfortunately, i ended up miscarrying at 8 months, and it was was one of the hardest moments of my life. however, it did help me realize that as an autistic person, there are still so many experiences that i can have, regardless of what society had led me to believe. i also think about how many undiagnosed parents there are out there, and that further shows that there are plenty of autistic people that can be parents with the right supports.

y'know, i'd like to maybe be a dad someday, but my extreme noise sensitivity and sensory issues surrounding stickiness and gooeyness would probably make it impossible. like kids deserve to be loud and messy and i have no idea how i could navigate parenting with my sensory issues and still let my kids act like kids.

and i can't do research about it because i'm 1000% sure if i look up "parenting while autistic" "autistic raising kids" "autistic parenting advice" ALL i'm going to get is (probably bad and wrong) advice for neurotypicals on how to raise autistic kids because nobody seems to think adults can be autistic and we might want kids of our own

[tibby]

here to ask for saw hcs for the 570243rd time but would u want to share any that you have ab lawrence and adam and their relationship? or more about amanda and adam your pick <3

i will do you one better and give you both. my three best beloveds:

sometimes having amanda around isn't good for adam, because even if they're close now, she was still his kidnapper and attacker and it's hard to separate that from the present when he's having an episode. so she makes herself scarce, but when adam is doing better they snuggle on the couch together and amanda whispers that she's sorry (because she is, she regrets hurting adam more than she regrets hurting most), and adam's like. i know. it's not quite forgiveness but he loves her and he understands, and that's more than enough.

adam and lawrence are often all over each other in some capacity but i do think hand touching is a big thing for them specifically (something about how they thought the first time they touched would also be their last). they're always holding hands or one of them is resting his hand on the other's thigh/neck/shoulder/whatever or lawrence is kissing adam's fingertips. it helps ground them both and they both just...crave any kind of normal romance and domesticity given how abnormal the rest of their life is.

adam is sometimes (often) annoying just for the hell of it and lawrence likes to pretend he’s not stupidly endeared by it and adam will just be like you LOVE me you SAVED me you share a bed with me every night i’m your baby and your sweetheart and your honey and-- while kissing all over his face and lawrence pretends not to be so stupidly endeared by it but he is.

amanda takes john’s death the hardest and even though adam is secretly glad the old fraud is dead, he lets mandy cry on his shoulder and she smokes through an entire pack of his cigarettes and kisses her head and lets her sleep with him and lawrence that night in one huge cuddle pile.

i've said before that adam is the one with the garden at casa de jigsquad, and to help it thrive but also to quell amanda's issues around food being wasted, he's very diligent about making compost from all the scraps. they briefly considered getting a chicken but they took one look at bastard eating a pigeon alive and decided not to risk it.

adam has generally gone through life thinking that he's stupid and won't ever accomplish much. plenty of people have told him as much, and he's well aware that high school dropout slash freelance photographer slash unwilling serial killer isn't the thing that looks good on a resume. so he's down on himself about it a lot, but lawrence takes his hand and is like. hey. stop that. you're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, adam. you could go back to school, you know. get your GED, and college if you wanted. or you could take your photography to the next level, or find a new avenue that you want to pursue. you have a lot to offer the world. and adam doesn't really know what to say at first, because if it was anyone else it'd feel like an insult or mockery, because adam isn't actually capable of any of that. but this is lawrence. and well. lawrence would't lie to him.

sometimes lawrence gets upset about his amputation, thinks his stump looks ugly and feels embarrassed about having to put on his prosthetic and use the cane. he’s been raised to believe he’s only worthy if he’s perfect (or appears perfect and keeps everything else hidden), and the amputated foot makes him feel anything but. he doesn’t like sharing his own pain, isn’t used to it and thinks adam’s is more valid, but adam is always able to pry it out of him. holds lawrence close and reassures him that he’s worthy of so much even if he isn’t always perfect, and he’s not ruined because he’s now disabled, and the reason why he lost it is because he had to save his family. adam doesn’t want him to feel any shame in that

adam and amanda like to go on long drives together. they don't ever have a destination in mind, and sometimes they don't even talk or listen to music. just being in each other's company is enough. wherever they end up, they'll end up together.

okay. fine. here's one nsfw one: people obviously make a lot of assumptions about adam and lawrence’s relationship (dishevelled younger man/wealthy older man) and even though they are genuinely together and in love. they both kind of get off on the idea of playing into those assumptions. like they go to a fancy hotel for a weekend and do weird roleplay surrounding the idea that they’re having an illicit affair and adam is just a toy lawrence uses to get his dick wet and forget about his marital problems for the night. it's a little weird but they're happy and not hurting anyone. so.

one day, adam and lawrence are cuddling on the couch, playing with each other's hands, and lawrenceslips a ring onto adam's finger. and adam freezes and stares at lawrence who kisses his forehead and says that can signify whatever you want. but i need you to know that...you're it for me. you're my future. whatever you want, i'm willing to offer it to you. i love you, adam. you're my life. and adam starts laughing and crying at the same time and pins lawrence down on the couch to kiss him and says yes yes i'll marry you the ring means we're engaged yes yes i'll become your trophy wife you ridiculous old man and it'll dawn on him as lawrence grins and kisses him back, that maybe, there's a way out of this. a happy life for them away from the jigsaw legacy. whatever he wants, lawrence is all in. forever.

[brywrites]

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand.  You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

..

Tags: @calm-and-doctor​ @averyhotchner​

[johnnygraham]

full name — jonathan vincent graham

nickname(s) — johnny

age — twenty-four

date of birth — november 1st

place of birth — havenhill

current location — havenhill

gender — cis man

pronouns — he/him

sexual orientation — heterosexual

religion — lol

occupation — struggling musician. johnny just returned to town after being gone for two years on the road. he got a few good gigs, but nothing that put him on the map. 

education level — he was expelled from high school during his senior year. he was going to go back and get his GED, but never bothered.

residence — for now he’s staying at the local havenhill inn, which is probably just as terrible as it sounds.

family — catherine ‘kitty’ graham, who he loves with every fiber of his being. even when she went by cathy, he called her kitty. or kitkat. he was raised by his grandparents, but they have a strained relationship because of how much trouble he got in as a kid. some of that mellowed out as he got older, but his reputation still followed him.

finances — they aren’t great, but he always finds a way to get by.

languages — english

faceclaim / voiceclaim — thomas doherty

misc.   —

he has a bad reputation with the locals. if a convenience store gets robbed, the cops are guaranteed to show up on his doorstep.

as a kid, he did everything you weren’t supposed to do just to see if he could get away with it. his juvenile record is pages long, but most of the charges have been expunged. at this point he assumes the cops are so bored they just follow him around town. once he was even arrested for jaywalking. he doesn’t trust cops (or people in general) because of this. havenhill made him feel like he was under a microscope.

he has a bad temper and it’s typically what gets him in trouble. the fights he got into at school weren’t the typical fights. he once sent a kid to the ER for slapping his sister’s ass. generally he’s laid back, but there are certain things that will set him off.

a lot of that has to do with internalized anger that he carries around after they went to live with their grandparents. he was older than kitty at the time and it impacted him significantly. 

developed an unlikely friendship with julia collins. it lasted until her parents found out about it. given his reputation, they immediately put an end to what had rapidly turned into a budding crush - but not before he got one kiss.

he’s expecting plenty of people to be mad at him for taking off, kitty especially, and he’s not looking forward to police scrutiny. 

he plays guitar and has a decent voice

on the road he developed a lot of bad habits that he’s still trying to shake, with little success. he returned to havenhill for a lot of reasons, but it was also the last place he ever felt happy

he’s socal, but has a dry affect and demeanor that tends to piss people off. he pushes boundaries and can go too far at times.

[rotationalsymmetry]

It's supposed to be thunderstorms for the next two hours. So I guess I'm not getting my book today either. Maybe another hold will be available when I get there tomorrow.

Tombs of Atuan is a weird fucking story. I do not know what to make of it, at all.

Maybe you're not supposed to make anything of it. Maybe it's supposed to be dark and mysterious.

I...think it might be largely, thematically, about atheism? The religion that Tenar leaves is presented as an evil cult, and Christians tend to have plenty of space in their worldview for evil cults, so it wouldn't obviously be anti-Christian to Christians. But I don't think they've ever really mentioned gods in the religion of the Archipelago. They have festivals and stuff. But they don't seem to worship. And it has a very sort of academic/Age of Enlightenment energy to it. And Tenar's exodus of The Place has some really obvious parallels to leaving an especially insular/"the earth was created 6,000 years ago" (I'm not even sure if I got the number right lol)/"Harry Potter books are clearly promoting Satanism" sort of Christian community.

I still very much want to see a meta comparing Tombs of Atuan to the Locked Tomb trilogy or specifically Tenar to Harrow.

Except also there is a symbolic rape in it like there's tunnels there's a phallic symbol there's a violation, it's symbolically rape, there is no way that a passage like that written in the Western literary tradition is not meant to symbolize rape and it's also, in the same passage, got all this darkness/light symbolism going on where light is associated with Ged and masculinity and the Inner Lands and dark is associated with Tenar and femininity and the Place, and I have no freaking clue what to do with that.

(Not that like Tenar wasn't also doing fucked up horrifying power-trippy stuff to Ged, there's a reason I want to see a Tenar/Harrow comparison, and not like she wasn't in a position of vastly greater power for the center part of the story, but I think the text acknowledges that whereas it doesn't really view Ged's action as bad in the same way. Which I might not have as much of a problem with. If it wasn't really blatantly symbolically rape, and also maybe intersecting with colonialist ideas of "it's ok to steal from those people, they're not appreciating that stuff anyways." This is driving me bonkers.) (I am not trying to do some sort of This Is Irredeemably Problematic/No, This Author is the Most Woke and Unproblematic Person to Walk The Earth game, OK? That's not how I intersect social justice awareness and stories. I do narrative evaluations, not pass/fail, all right? If you wanna interact, please respect my style.)

[upstatetruecrime]

Larry Stackhouse Jr. -  Missing Person

Larry Stackhouse Jr. was born September 2nd, 1986, to Larry and Lorraine Stackhouse. Larry, by all accounts, was a good kid, went to church, had a good group of friends, and went to school. At some point, it is not clear why, but he opted to get his GED instead. And hey, high school is not for everyone; there have been plenty of successful people who never finished school. But he was planning on receiving his GED and was working at a nursing home and was also a father to a little girl. On December 2nd, 2005, Christian Brothers Academy was having a basketball game. Larry had made plans with one of his long-time friends to attend this that night. He left his house around 6-6:30 and made it to the game. Friends of Larry's father, Larry Stackhouse Sr., had told the father that they did see him there.

Unfortunately, that morning of December 3rd would be the morning that Mr. and Mrs. Stackhouse would come to realize that their son was missing. Larry Jr., not one for not calling or just not coming home, deeply concerned his parents. So Mr. Stackhouse called the Syracuse Police Department to report his son missing. This call would set the tone on how the entire case would go, being ignored and turned away.

When Mr. Stackhouse called the Syracuse Police, they initially did not treat it as a missing person case, and It took them 48 hours to consider Larry Jr. missing. According to an interview that the Stackhouse's did with Marc Lamont from the Huffington Post; Marc stated that 76% of missing or abducted children die within the first three hours. The fact that police waited 48 hours on a teenager who didn't have a record, who was by all accounts a good citizen, is questionable. When the police finally started their investigation, they questioned Larry Jr.'s friend who went to the basketball game with him. The friend said after the game, he dropped him off at a nearby store close to Larry Jr.'s home. But strangely changed his story and said that he got into an altercation with a group of Native Americans at Corcoran High School.

Okay, so I want to know why and how he ended up in Corcoran High School. Driving it would take 16 minutes to get there, so it's not like he can walk right over. And this game was after school hours, so what would be the reason to head over there. That entire story seems highly suspicious and leaves me with only more questions, just like the rest of this case.

When this case was finally publicized, many tips were called in, which was made public. This first tip was consistent in all sources that I read, Tip 1. A Store Clerk said a Native American Male bragged about how Larry would never be seen again.

My thoughts on this are: This tip coincides with Larry Jr.'s friend, who said that he dropped him off at a nearby store in his first account. Was this the same store? Was there video footage; I have been in these convenience stores and local gas stations. I am assuming here that it was a convenience store, but I know they have a lot of shady things that go on around them, so they have video surveillance 90% of the time. Having worked in one of these stores, I know that frequent customers become very comfortable telling you their life stories. But the other side to that is I would usually know their name and around where they live. So then my question for the store clerk is, why would this customer be so comfortable to tell you this? The clerk must know him in some way unless he just walked in Willy Nilly and said, " Hey, my dude guess what..." Or did this clerk just want to insert themselves, because unfortunately, that is also a thing.

Tip number 2 and a half, I say half because there are two different rumors for the same tip. The first tip that I came across was that this Student, a Native American girl overheard her brother telling her dad that he killed Larry Jr. So she told her principal, and the principal contacted authorities. The alternate story to this tip/rumor is that she heard two people bragging about killing and disposing of Larry Jr. on the reservation. I read this tip in two sources. But the police said this Student was unreliable. I would like to know why she is unreliable.

Tip number three was a letter was sent to Mr. Stackhouse Sr. From an inmate at a prison stating something similar to what that Student was alleging. So again, I have questions, how did this inmate know, and if this girl is so unreliable, why does the inmate have the same story.

Law enforcement alleged that a motive for Larry Jr.'s disappearance was that he stole $700 worth of marijuana from the Native Americans. And that foul play is suspected.

It seems here that the focus keeps going back to the group of Native Americans; I mean, every tip involves them. And now you're probably wondering why doesn't law enforcement just go to the reservation to investigate. And well, due to a treaty signed decades ago, law enforcement doesn't have any jurisdiction in Onondaga Nation. And rightfully so, I mean, if you want t to be technical, none of this land belongs to anyone but them. But that story is for another podcast.

But I will talk briefly about how the nation is run; according to Onondaganation.Org, The nation is self-governed by a council of 14 chiefs, They own 7300 acres of land, and their main focus is their smoke shop. For law enforcement to investigate the reservation, they have to get permission from the chiefs. To show how complex this is, I will talk briefly about another case that shows how the nation is highly loyal to its people and their distrust of law enforcement (rightfully so.)

On April 7th, 2015, Corey Redmond was from the reservation and wanted multiple charges and warrants. But in this incident, he was firing a gun next to firefighters and police. He then fled to the reservation. And because law enforcement needed permission, they could not enter their land. Meanwhile, spiritual leader Sid Hill (who was highly concerned about the safety of Redmond) stated that he wanted to make sure this situation would go about peacefully and that Redmond was being "spiritually healed" by a clan mother. And in 2008, he was handed over to the sheriff's office. That is three years they protected him. So I imagine that if any of their people were suspected of murder, they would protect them as long as possible; I don't believe out of spite or to throw shade to them, but again the distrust runs deep. I had a thought while writing this and wondered if the outcome would have been different for Larry Jr. had his community supported his family the same way.

Now back to Larry Jr. in contrast to how Onondaga Nation treats their people, law enforcement tried to criminalize Larry Jr., stating publicly that he could have been in a gang or selling drugs. They also put out into the media that he had two misdemeanors but wouldn't elaborate on what they were for. It took his parent to come out and basically debunk what law enforcement said. Lorraine Stackhouse said in multiple sources that she never saw him carry a gun, have drugs on him, or have drug paraphernalia. And his two misdemeanors were for two violation tickets for a seatbelt and loud music that were never taken care of.

Mr. Stackhouse ended up hiring a private investigator in 2007, who happened to have a good relationship with the reservation. The investigator was granted permission to investigate on the reservation, and the clothing that Larry Jr. was wearing that night was found. Law enforcement would, later on, take credit for this. DNA was taken from the clothing, but the DNA was inconclusive because of the environment and conditions the clothing was subjected to.

Meanwhile, Law enforcement said that while this was considered a cold case, they were still investigating it. Huffington Post reached out to Syracuse Police Department Chief Frank Fowler (in an article from 2014) about any leads on this case. But he declined to elaborate on (if any) leads they investigated. The same article states that Mr. and Mrs. Stackhouse reached out to local politicians and even civil rights activist Al Sharpton but never received any replies or follow through.

So they reached out to local media, and the media said they would air their story on the anniversary of the case and Larry Jr.s birthday. That means they would have to wait almost a year for this case to air locally. When it finally did air, it stopped as quickly as it started due to a lack of new information. Mr. and Mrs. Stackhouse, not one to sit back and wait, took to New York City. They went to national news sources and gave them their media package. But on the way back home, they, unfortunately, received a call saying that their story would not be aired. And this was because they are African American, and African American cases don't get the ratings Caucasian cases do.

To put this into perspective, I am going to quote verbatim a statement from an article in blackandmissinginc.com called, "Black kids go missing at a higher rate than white kids. Here's why we don't hear about them." It states that a 2010 study found black children were significantly underrepresented in TV news. Even though about a third of all missing children in the FBI's database are black, they only make up about 20% of the missing children cases covered in the news. Even worse, a 2015 study shows that although black children account for about 35% of missing children's cases in the FBI's database, only 7% received media attention.

It has been 15 years that Larry Stackhouse Jr. has been missing. Social media evolved so much over that time. I want to believe, had social media been this great in 2005, there would be more information. There are cases like the Gabby Petito Case that went viral. But the thing with a missing person case is that they never die. In the hearts of those who love him (although at this point unlikely), they still have hope, they don't have closure, and this case isn't solved. So this story can still circulate; maybe the guilty are guilt-ridden and need to come forward. Or perhaps they have a family now, and if they were in the same situation. If they were to see Larry Jr.s face every day, like we saw Gabby's, perhaps at that point it would be too much. I know for a fact that more people are out there that know the answer that know something. I had to search for news articles and YouTube videos published over the span of 10 years to pull together as much information as possible. I ask that if you're listening just to post his missing poster if you knew him talk about him, share any information you have.

Mr. Stackhouse said in an interview with CNY central in 2014, "Not knowing is the most difficult thing." That is heartbreaking.

Here are the details of Larry Stackhouse Jr.

DOB: September 2, 1986, he would be 35 today

Hair - black

eyes - brown

he is 5'10"

170 lbs

He has a tattoo of his name, Larry, on his right arm

the left ear is pierced

Sources:

Blackandmissinginc.com

"Black kids go missing at a higher rate than white kids. Here's why we don't hear about them." Published November 4th, 2019 by Harmer Kaur

Echoes Path

Huffington Post YouTube Video

Huffpost.com "Larry Stackhouse Jr. Missing: Mysterious New York Case Puzzles Police, Family" Published April 10th, 2012 updated March 27th, 2014 By. David Lohr

Sillve.com

Charley Project

Syracuse.com "We are Looking into ways to end this Safely."Onondaga Nation Leder Says of Fugitive." By. Ken Sturtz Published April 14th, 2015 Updated March 22, 2019

Philosophyofacrime.com "The disappearance of Larry Stackhouse Jr." By. Elise Haley AKA Crime Shark Published April 30th, 2019

Onondaganation.org

[thetriggeredhappy]

Okay so that last one with scout losing snipes broke my heart into a zillion pieces so... What if sniper never died? Maybe he was badly hurt and is hiding somewhere... -🐑

i really like how you people keep doing this thing where you’re like “hey what if you ripped my whole heart out and stomped on it” then i do because you literally asked and you're all “owie :( ouch owie :( can i have a band-aid now” like it’s funny every time

(warnings for mention of firearms and discussion of severe life-threatening injury)

-

His contract expired.

Somewhere along the line—wonder when?—apparently his work had gotten ‘sloppy’. He’d gotten ‘erratic’. So six years after what all happened, when his contract was up to be renewed, Miss Pauling gently urged him to let it expire and to just head home.

It wasn’t like he had a good reason not to. He didn’t particularly get along with any of the team (anymore). A few of them had come and gone—Pyro apparently got reassigned somewhere and was gone overnight, and at some point Demo decided to leave mercenary work altogether to get a real, proper, legally sound job somewhere. Both of them had been replaced.

Their new Sniper wasn’t as polite as—

She was even more of a recluse, although she got along alright with Heavy sometimes. She was also Russian, which probably helped. And Scout felt a little bad about how much he hated her. She couldn’t help what happened. It wasn’t her fault. She was just picking up the baton on this job. Someone had to do it.

Mostly he just ended up avoiding her. And everyone else.

Exactly once he’d tried to take up dating again. Someone had gotten particularly sweet when he was out at a bar, and they’d flirted for a little while, then they’d suggested they both head somewhere else, and that they had a car if he wanted to—

He quietly stammered his way through a refusal. The vague guilt and unease reached a head the second he thought about getting in a car.

He’d needed to sell his car and get a motorcycle instead, at some point. The idea of getting in a vehicle had become an irrational fear, after he’d seen a picture of the wreckage, smelled the acrid smoke on the salvaged belongings.

That was one reason he took a plane home and had all his stuff shipped separately.

That meant that it was a few days of wearing only his old clothes when he got back, waiting for the rest to show up. And those were a little hard to squeeze into, he’d really been a lanky fuck before he became a mercenary.

The only thing he had at home that fit right was the suit, left there hanging in his closet to get eaten by moths.

The suit and the boxes of things were all shoved into the far side of his closet, and they stayed that way. He felt like maybe he wouldn’t ever be ready to look at them again, and in the meantime, they just made him feel guilty.

For the first two months after he got off work, he didn’t really do much. He stayed home, stayed out of trouble. Put his things away, sorted through what he wanted to keep and what he could just get rid of, either selling it or scrapping it if it was just kinda garbage. He tried to catch up with his brothers a little bit, the ones left in Boston still, but he didn’t get very far, feeling weird and disconnected.

After two months, he finally felt bad about Ma constantly tip-toeing around the topic of employment or hobbies (not that he needed to worry about those—he had enough money saved to not worry about much of anything until he was like, eighty), and he started trying to look for work, or maybe just something to keep him busy. For a month or so he looked into becoming a bartender, but the hours were a little weird. He thought about trying to get into doing baseball on some professional level, but he was getting a little old to be going into it for the first time since his late teens and early twenties. He very briefly looked into doing the cartoons for the newspaper—he was pretty good at art by then—before he found out they would require some amount of actual schooling for it.

So he ended up latching onto that, and started heading to the library five or six days a week to spend a few hours there studying to get his GED. His Ma supported him wholeheartedly on it, and got around to telling him, about a month into his new routine, that she was really glad he found something to do, something he wanted, that he’d just seemed so miserable, before, waiting around for something to happen.

Maybe she was right. He was waiting around for something to happen. He got the speech from Miss P—“ten years following your departure from the team, you and anyone nearby you will be kept in the system, and if there’s anyone who tries to bring you harm we’ll catch them before they can, and here’s a phone number to call if anything suspicious happens that you want looked into”. To him, that meant “someone might try and kill you”. So he did stay strapped when he went places, looked over his shoulder, kept an eye on doors and other potential exits.

So when he got back from the library one day and saw a car parked out in front of the house, at least he was prepared.

He thought fast. Kept driving past the house and parked a little ways down the block—he could drive the bike back later, it didn’t matter. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, pushed it open with his shoulder, pistol drawn and cocked, falling back into old habits maybe a little too easily considering he hadn’t been a mercenary for almost a year and a half.

Voices from the living room—not from the TV, and not Ma on the phone, because he could also hear the TV, and there was a commercial playing that he recognized, one that didn’t involve Ma and a second, much deeper voice.

He steadied his hands, rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the room, leveling his gun directly at the head of the person within.

First he took stock of the fact that Ma was indeed there, sitting on the couch, looking relatively relaxed and entirely unharmed, if surprised to see him there and also with a gun. Then he took stock of the room, saw that there was only one other person here, the one he was pointing a gun at, the one who had slowly raised his hands up to either side of his head. Potentially unarmed, it was hard to tell with his baggy jacket—

Wait a minute.

Scout frowned, squinted, looking over his face a little more closely as realization started creeping into view.

He tried to imagine, for a second. What exactly would seven years do to a guy?

Maybe he’d end up with his hair growing out a lot longer, from close-cut to hanging down around his ears. Maybe with a beard, relatively clean but still a bit messy in some ways. Maybe he’d get new clothes, his eyes would sink a little bit more, would start to crinkle at the corners. More freckles, more spots maybe. Aged, scarred. Maybe he’d be wearing glasses. Maybe, despite all of that, he wouldn’t look all that different at all.

“...’llo, Bilby,” Sniper said quietly, hopefully, voice rough, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout lowered his gun, marched three steps forward, and slapped him clear across the face.

It was a hefty slap. The smack noise was practically ringing, and his hand stung like a bitch, and he’d hit him hard enough to knock his glasses off to clatter across the floor, and his head snapped back at the force of it, and the noise he made was satisfyingly pained.

“Right. Probably deserve that,” he croaked, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout tucked back away his gun, grabbed Sniper by the sides of his head, and kissed him square on the mouth.

It was a hard kiss, hard enough that he got Sniper to do that thing where he made an undignified little squeaky noise of surprise, caught off guard by it. He only melted forward for a second or two before Scout was pulling back away again.

“You fucking piece of shit son of a bitch cunt I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Scout practically snarled.

“Jeremy,” his Ma admonished from the couch.

“He’s right,” Sniper said weakly.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Scout insisted, just as fiercely. “What the fuck happened to you?!”

“There was a—“ Sniper started explaining, but Scout cut him off.

“Car bomb between 2:45 and 2:50 PM twenty minutes away from the nearest city limits,” he listed off, “I know that, but what—seven fucking years, Snipes!”

“I know,” Sniper said, voice flimsy. “First two years were recovery and physical therapy, next four were trying to get legal papers and apply for a visa to get back into the States again.”

“That bad?” Scout asked, still angry but faltering.

“Needed reconstructive surgery on... most of the left side of my body. Lost some teeth,” he said, and tugged his lip back on one side to show him where three teeth, the three behind the canines, were a slightly different color, then dropped his hand again. “Plenty of scars. Might be, er... missing a lot of those freckles you liked. And... voice comes and goes sometimes. But, Australian miracle medicine, I’m much better than I was.”

“You grew your hair out,” Scout noted next, carding his hands up through it.

Sniper laughed. “Lost half my teeth and needed a new coat of paint on the whole left of me, and you’re worried about my hair?” he chided.

“It’s just new, thought you hated it getting long,” Scout shrugged.

“Y’know,” his Ma said, sounding all too amused by the proceedings, approaching with Sniper’s glasses and handing them over to him, “you’re lucky you showed me those pictures all those years ago, Jeremy. Otherwise, strange guy shows up at our door askin’ about your work name and all, I would’a started blasting.”

She nodded meaningfully towards the table beside the couch, and Scout saw that indeed she had a gun there, taken from its place where he kept it stashed by the door as a “just in case”.

“Thanks, Ma,” he said, smiling a little.

“No problem, sweetheart,” she said, and patted him on the arm. She glanced between him and Sniper and scooped up the firearm from the table. “I’ll just go put this away,” she said, and left the two of them alone.

“Would’ve been easier to track you down if you’d given me more to go on than ‘southern Boston’,” Sniper said, eyebrows rising. “And if I didn’t need to be so careful about how I asked.”

“Huh?”

Sniper’s expression fell a little, and he raised his hand to fix his hair where Scout had mussed it up. “Look, you know the rules. Employer keeps an eye out for us for years after we leave. That means if I asked through my usual methods of tracking people down, that’d send up flashing red lights somewhere. So I... needed to take extra precautions.”

“Miss P told me they took care of the guys that tried to kill you,” Scout said, frowning.

“I went off radar for almost two years without official leave,” Sniper murmured. “And it wasn’t on purpose, but I don’t think they’d believe that. They might try and kill me if they find out I’m still alive. I’m a loose end.”

Scout’s heart dropped.

“Only cut it close once,” Sniper said, gaze falling. “But that was enough for Miss Pauling to get in contact with me, to try to talk to me. I... I told her I’m done, I’m out of mercenary work, and... just as a precaution I have to do a few things now. Check in on the regular. I wear this,” he said, pushing his sleeve up to show off a bulky device on his wrist, bigger than a watch. “It’s tracker. Makes sure I’m only in the places I say I’m going. Had to get a visa by myself, get transportation by myself, and it cut my protection time in half so now I’ve had to hire on someone to guard my parents and keep them safe, but now she’ll keep it secret that I’m alive. They’ll stop looking for me in two years, and if by then I’m still playing by the rules, I’m free. Back to normal life.”

“She said it was okay that you be here?” Scout asked. “In the same city as me? She wasn’t worried about that?”

“Told her why I was coming here,” Sniper shrugged.

“And what’d you tell her?” Scout asked softly.

They looked at each other.

“I... didn’t want to assume,” Sniper said quietly, carefully, looking over his face. “That you’d... I, I understand if you’ve moved on. Seven years, declared dead—“

“I didn’t,” Scout said just as quietly.

Sniper gave a breathless little laugh, cupping his face. “Bilby, I told you to,” he tried.

“Well, so-rry,” Scout said next, throat a little tight, hands on his hips, “Mister—Mister Legally Dead. Sorry I didn’t jump into speed dating the second I got the news. What, you—you wanted me to have kids by now?”

“Wouldn’t blame you,” Sniper shrugged, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “But... I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Well I’m glad you’re glad,” Scout mumbled, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “So...?”

Sniper was smiling, wide and unashamed. “So one day at a time,” he said quietly. “We can talk about it more in a bit. First, mind if I use your phone?”

“Why?”

“Meant to call in to check with Pauling in—“ He glanced around to find the clock in the room. “—three minutes or so. And... I ought to tell her I’ve made progress. And... that we’re sorting out details. Might call you over to talk to her too.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Hallway by the kitchen,” Scout directed, and kissed him again, and again, and again, until Sniper urged him down and off before he was late calling in.

He found himself in the kitchen, looking out the window. Ma was unloading the dishwasher and humming. In the hallway, the sound of talking, long pauses, more talking.

“He seems nice,” Ma said quietly, and shot Scout a smile, and Scout smiled too.

“He was—is,” he corrected quickly, flinching a little bit.

“How you feelin’?” Ma asked.

Scout looked down, crossed his arms over himself. “Y’know how in movies there’s that bit people do, all “feels too good to be true” or whatever?”

“Uh huh.”

“Kinda the opposite. It feels... like him being gone wasn’t real. And now stuff is real again.”

“Like you woke up?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, exactly,” Scout confirmed.

“I could tell,” Ma admitted, and stretched to reach the cabinet to put things away once they were good and dry. “Been a zombie since you got back, seems like maybe you’ve been a zombie for a while.”

Scout moved over to help, taking the dishes that belonged in the higher shelves and starting to put those away. “Sheesh, was I seriously that obvious?”

“It was pretty bad.”

“...Is that, like... normal? Or... healthy?” Scout asked carefully.

Ma laughed. “Sweetheart, how should I know?”

“But you know, like, everything.”

Ma pinched him on the cheek at the compliment and he squawked a complaint, and she laughed.

“I don’t know if it’s healthy,” she finally replied. “And... maybe it’s not about whether it’s healthy. Maybe... it’s just one step. And, hey, it worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and smiled. “Yeah, it did.”

“Bilby,” Sniper called, leaning in to look through the door to the kitchen, phone cord visibly all stretched out. “Wants to talk to you.”

Miss Pauling ran through a brief check to make sure he was indeed Scout, then asked a series of questions. Whether he felt safe with being around Sniper on the regular. Whether Sniper would be staying with him on the regular, and the fact that instead of extending security to cover him, she’d need to just go more lax on Scout’s security to make sure Sniper wasn’t found out.

He was fine with that. All of that.

After the phone call, after a few more questions, he dragged Sniper upstairs and flung open the door to his closet, digging through the dusty old boxes with purpose. Then he was pulling out an item and shoving it directly into Sniper’s chest.

Sniper put his hat back on, and Scout couldn’t help but yank him down into another kiss at the wave of nostalgia and familiarity as Sniper nudged his glasses up and looked at him and asked if it was on crooked, the same way he’d said a hundred times before, a hundred years ago.

And, hopefully, he’d say it a billion more times, for a billion more years. Scout would make sure of it.

[brooklynfm]

            { aisha dee. twenty-six. cis woman. she / her} Did you see BROOKLYN MCCARTHY left their door cracked open again. You think they’d learn after living in 3A for TWO YEARS. Last time they did this you could hear LIABILITY by LORDE blasting in the hallway. If you passed by you might have even caught a glimpse of them  DOODLING IN THEIR FAVORITE SKETCHBOOK. The rest of the floor says they can be CLUMSY and MAGNANIMOUS . Seeing them in the halls always reminds me of THE BRIGHT SOUND OF JOYOUS LAUGHTER, STRAWBERRY SCENTED PERFUMES FILLING EVERY ROOM SHE WALKS INTO, and LATE NIGHT TEXTS LEFT ON READ. { raq / she/her / cst }

okay hello!! you’ll probably catch me on discord but you’re welcome to dm here too. quick introduction i’m raq and this intro is... a bit messy. i’m ironing out brooklyn a little more so if she’s totally different in a week -- pretend she isn’t lmao. i love love love to plot with you guys and get writing asap ( i miss writing SO much). sorry if this intro is a bit long like i said, still working out the kinks. alright, hit me up! 

full  name:  brooklyn  layla  mccarthy

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she / her 

nicknames:  lyn or/and brooks 

age: twenty - six

date of birth: march 18th

sign: Pisces  

place of birth:  new york, new york ( the bronx ) 

sexuality: bisexual

biography  /  (  tw; divorce mentions, I think that’s it !  )* 

Lydia Sheffield often describes the day she learned she was pregnant was the “final bullet” to an already dying relationship with her parents. At the ripe age of 16, Lydia had to confess to her ultra religious parents that she was pregnant with 17 year old Myles McCarthy’s child. The middle class and conservative  Sheffield family were absolutely furious. Her father, Jeremiah Sheffield and his wife, Esther Sheffield were so indignant that their own daughter would go against their purity beliefs they kicked her out. Naturally, it was the McCarthy family who took Lydia Sheffield into their own home. Lydia and Myles were madly in love, despite both of their parents' critiques of them being so young. The couple decided to simply get their GED’s and work on saving up for a place of their own. and, lucky for them, the McCarthy’s already owned a second house just a few blocks away. gotta love having the convenient landlords for  parents  They  rented it out to Myles and Lydia as an easy way to stay close to their  future grandchild.

Myles McCarthy always talks about how bitter cold it was the day his only daughter was born. a long, painful, thirteen hour labor led  to the birth of their pride and joy. 

There was nothing under the sun that Brooklyn didn’t try. A childhood filled with chasing the whim and  wonder of a forever curious child.  At age five she would’ve already tried and hated ballet. By six, it was piano. Seven, soccer. Yearly, changing hobbies and interests and never truly getting very good at any of them  ( she’d never stick to them long enough ).  Up until she was around eight when she dove into her grandmother’s old painting set, easel and all left behind in their old shed. It was like love at first brush, painting was the first outlet that Brooklyn had and never strayed away from. Suddenly, her days were filled with the billions of colors and canvases of scribbles resembling her mother’s favorite flower or the neighbor’s dog she loved so dearly. Growing up only a child to a hardworking, young waitress and a mechanic, Brooklyn spent a good amount of time in quiet solitude and vying for her parents' costly attention with her latest works of art.  Time is money thus their hectic work schedules didn’t exactly allot tons of bonding time with their daughter.  A lonesome childhood that only led such a glowing extrovert to really shine in school. Though her reasonable likability doesn’t exactly lead to popularity. Brook was hardly popular and didn’t really have a stable friend group most of the time. Not for lack of trying, however.  She was a clear social chameleon who tried to get along with anyone. Not quite fitting in but not really belonging either. A real people pleaser -- which almost always lends to teenhood of bad circumstances in a multitude of friendships and relationships.  

And her teen years only got progressively more complicated. Remember how her parents were so  “in love”? Well, the lack of time for their daughter bred a lack of time for each other as well.  Big surprise, her mother was a serial cheater. Her late night jobs at the diner were actually trips she’d take to go see some guy named Peter. Of course, having gone to the diner just to surprise his wife only to see she wasn’t even there, Myles always suspected she was cheating on him. Lydia got a bit reckless and brought the man home one day while Myles was out of town. Brooklyn walked in on them and their marriage was history. After this, her relationship with her mother weakened as her father grew even more distant -- willfully burying himself in his work rather than properly coping with his emotions despite gaining full custody of his daughter. The burned marriage and constant worry for money a big distraction in being heavily involved in her life. . 

Going away for college and making it on her own was meant to be her way out of her small town. Getting into NYU with her portfolio studying studio art, things were looking quite bright for Brooklyn even despite her fragile relationship with the only family she has back home. Though, she’d soon discover her talents aren’t getting her nearly as far as she hoped. So now, with a healthy bit of debt and a decent job at an art museum -- the life of a lost and very lonesome late twenty-something is in full swing. She spends a good chunk of her free time out at bars or painting in her room, wondering if this is really all her life will come to be. 

personality  /  ( musing tag here ! ) * 

Her independence is huge to her, likes being able to care for herself and others without  help. A real motivated go-getter type ( though as of the last few years, she is struggling to remain optimistic  ).  Brooklyn is booksmart. But,  still has plenty of maturing to do. Can be perceived as naïve in that regard due to her people pleasing and will to do... essentially anything to be liked. 

Just a sweet soul deep down and very loyal. Subsequently, tends to be the first to forgive anyone no matter how much they might’ve slighted her. Horrid at taking criticism ( she’s very sensitive) definitely the type to sugar coat the truth to save someone’s feelings. 

Impulsive to a fault, probably has a billion stories of the crazy she has gotten herself into. Clumsy meaning she tends to just stumble into and fumble through situations for better and ( the more likely option ) for worse. While loyal to a fault often, she’ll change her mind quickly loose interest in frivolous relationships.  Not very smooth with letting people down or saying no either.  

To sum up, I feel like she gives off really great positive vibes. Just cozy caring warm that is somewhat a mask to hide her constant indecisive impulsivities and craving for belonging. ( that got... emo -- ksdfjasd ) 

wanted connection  /  ( click here for some more ideas ! ) *

tbh i’m down for whatever you guys might need for your muses but off the top of my head... 

would love to see a best friend or two ! the first few people she grew close to during her time at floor3

college friends

work friends ( not just at the museum, could’ve met while she was in college at part-time job )

exes turned really good friends

really anything!

[aidenoconnorx]

-- Hey is that [CHRIS WOOD]? No, that’s just [AIDEN O'CONNOR]. They’re [THIRTY-ONE], and have spent [TWO YEARS] in Dayton. I hear that they’re kind of [PASSIONATE], but also [SECRETIVE]. Did you hear their vices are [ADRENALINE & ADVENTURE]? Can’t wait to see [HE] at the next party! 

warning: mentions of abuse, cigarette burns, neglect, bullying

full name: aiden cian o’connor

nickname: 

age: thirty-one

date of birth: august 15

place of birth: nowhere, ky

zodiac: leo

gender: cis-male

nationality: american

sexual orientation: pansexual

romantic orientation: panromantic

relationship status: single *

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES.

height:  6”0’

weight: 172 lbs

hair color: brunette

eye color: blue

need glasses/contacts? yes

tattoos: Northstar tattoo on his left shoulder blade and a few smaller ones to cover up cigarette burns. Plans on getting another to conceal the one at the nape of his neck

distinguishing marks: cigarette burns on the nape of his neck, usually hidden by scraggly hair

BACKGROUND INFORMATION.

hometown: nowhere, ky

current residence: dayton, ca

past residences: none but has temporarily stayed in several

living arrangement: apartment 

spoken languages: english

financial status: just came into some money through his career

education level: some high school, dropped out but got his ged

occupation: author || blogger

FAMILIAL INFORMATION.

father: wade meadows. 58. doesn’t know where he is/how he’s doing and doesn’t care.

mother: farrah meadows. 56. that’s more complicated.

siblings: sister ( 23 ) and a younger brother & sister ( twins, 21 )

children: none

pets? a hedgehog named elton

other: liam o’connor. psuedo father, deceased.

PERSONALITY.

positive traits: energetic. outgoing. adventurous. helpful.

negative traits: secretive. rowdy. dramatic. reckless. 

likes: dogs. sunny weather. playing music. comics. trash tv (jerry springer, toddlers & tiaras, etc). drag queens (ru paul’s drag race). jogging in the rain. trying new things. talking to people. reading. volunteering. writing. wandering. kids. whiskey

dislikes: being alone too long. feeling ‘stiff’. awkward silence. being pigeon holed. bigots. blue pens. shaving. the cold. political movies. rooms without windows. shrimp. sweet potatoes. spiders. scratchy fabrics. douche bags. sharing his writing. too much tech ( has a flip phone and a cruddy laptop)

quirks: drums on everything. laughs at his own jokes. easily cold. talks to himself when trying to figure something out. always has change in his or her pocket to give to beggars or homeless. takes stupid bets/dares for small amounts of money. cosplays once or twice a year for charity/children’s ward. takes sleeping pills. good at card tricks.

moral alignment: chaotic good

Aiden’ a very outgoing guy. He’s always looking to meet new people and forge new connections. He was on his own a lot in the beginning of his life and he’s never really liked the feeling, despite what he says, so he makes it a mission to interact with the people around him. He’s easy going, easy to talk to and having been in Dayton about two years or so he’s bound to have plenty of acquaintances. He has several close friends too, but not many that know his whole story. Over the years he’s crafted that ‘I-feel-like-I-have-known-you-forever’ charm without really having to go too deep. One or two really close friends would be great though. 

Aiden's typically positive, even when he’s not, he doesn’t have much of a personal bubble concept, and he isn’t the most tactful. He’s bound to piss some people off. He’s usually pretty oblivious to it, so you have to spell it out for him. And that’s fine.He’ll apologize, if he knows he was wrong, and really, he doesn’t try to offend or bother anyone. Most of the time. He’s old enough to know you can’t get along with everyone. He won’t try to change your mind, but won’t go out of his way to avoid you, either. it’s a waste of time. He does get along with most though. He’s protective, having raised his siblings he’s got that older brother vibe always. He ain’t afraid to get gritty, and he’s pretty equipped when it comes to life skills. Need your plumbing looked at? He’s got you. Need a meal? Got you there too. Car fixed? Bring it.  Hair braided? Hell yeah. He’s a jack of all trades, but his main one is writing. It’s something he keeps close to his vest, but his mentor/father figure got it on an agent’s desk about four years ago and well-- he actually got published. It was a game changer. But he’s still super private about it.

As for love, Aiden has never really been in love. He’s had crushes, yes. Relationships, yes. But he’s never told anyone he’s been ‘in love’ with them. It’s a serious thing to him, it carries immense weight, so he doesn’t plan on saying it unless he’s sure he means it. He’s up for anything else though. One nighters, dates, flings, fwb, whatever with whoever. If you can get past his constant flirting and somewhat obnoxiousness, he can be a really sweet guy. He takes care of who he’s with and he isn’t afraid of exclusivity. He been in more than a few relationships (some good, some bad) back in Kentucky and a maybe one or two since coming to Dayton. It’s a good feeling, but it doesn’t define him.

THE RUN DOWN.

CHILDHOOD; there’s no reason to specify where aiden grew up in Kentucky. you won’t find it on a map and he likes it that way. his childhood isn’t important either. it’s not something he prefers to talk about and if asked he’s very vague about it. he might even lie about it, but the truth is, it wasn’t happy one and the cigarette burns on the nape of his neck and shoulder (these are covered) are proof enough. 

ADOLESCENCE; at eleven, his parents defected to god knows where. it left him, his three siblings, ages three and barely two. he missed three days of school trying to take care of them on what they had. his mother waltz in on the fourth as if nothing happened. it was a teacher of he confided in, one he stayed close to for years after. but defax didn’t exactly care. it was the first of many disappearances. sometimes it was a day, sometimes more. It was something he grew used to and by the time he was in middle school, he had surrendered to the fact he was the parent in this scenario. he had a hard time keeping up in high school. he was missing school to work under the table jobs and when he was at school, fights broke out and after about the fourth one, his teacher was done. they had a big blow out...making aiden realize his pride wasn’t worth it. he buckled down and leaned in to what his teacher was saying. without going into too many details, aiden began to flourish. his sullen and quiet demeanor shifted into the laughter and curiosity he once had. his grades improved and yeah, he was still picked at but the fighting stopped. it was like a page out of a fairy tale for him and he embraced it, wholeheartedly, no questions asked.

TWENTIES; unfortunately he didn’t make it through high school. he had to work, but he had o’connor’s support. he helped him study for his GED on the side and helped him as much as he could with his siblings. Things weren’t amazing, but they were manageable.  They survived and unlike him, his siblings stayed in school. He’d kill’em if they didn’t. He worked his ass off to get them through and in the little time he wasn’t? He wrote. He poured anything and everything he heard, felt, and experienced into journal upon journal. It cathartic mostly, but just as his little sister graduated high school, O’Connor managed to get one on the desk of an agent. How? He refused to say, the next week the agent was on Aiden’s door step, ready to change his life. Four years ago, he was published under a pen name and since then life has been smoother. the cash flow helped his siblings and by the time they were all comfortable in college, Aiden began to travel and live the life he’d always dreamed of.

THIRTIES; He hopped from place to place, living on the bare minimums to get a full experience. Writing it all down as he jumped outta planes, tried different local food-- just trying new things. By the time he reached Dayton, his agent was begging for something new too. His blogging and the mysteriousness around him as an anonymous author was fading. He needed something new so he settled. He didn’t intend to stay but-- in a thriving place like Dayton, a place without restriction and full of endless sins and passion? How could he not? It’s done wonders for his muse while still feeding his adrenaline fix. What’s not to like?

[ginnyzero]

You have the Power! Character Agency

We hear a lot of talk about agency and giving people power especially in feminist circles. So, what is character agency and how does it matter or effect your writing and story?

In Character Driven vs. Plot Driven stories I discussed briefly how in a character driven story, the character is the one who or that creates impetus in the plot. They did something to cause a reaction. They insulted an alien and sparked an invasion or someone is getting revenge on them or they have to make a decision about their lives. They are in charge. They’re in control of the story. They’re driving the bus and influencing the way things go. These themes are man vs. himself, man vs. man, and at times, man vs. a power greater than himself (aliens in this example.)

This character has power. This character has the means to change the situation. They have agency.

Agency is this really weird word to disguise the issue of whether or not a person has the ability to take action and has power over their situation or society. There are plenty of stories out there on shelves, especially in the YA section, about characters who are finding their power and abilities. This is a very common and very popular find your place in society, become the chosen one, stand up against the bullies/boss/disgruntled public and take control by saving the world, getting the love interest or saying ‘you have no power over me!’

Hmm, the Labyrinth anyone?

The reason that we talk a lot about this in feminist circles is because in media the characters that tend to have the least amount of power and agency if they choose to show up at all, are women. These are the girlfriends, the damsels in distress. A lot of times, because there are so few women in media, the women have to be more than one thing at once to represent all women.

Take the story of Cat Woman, the secretary who in Batman Returns was killed by her boss, came back to life and used her new powers to stand up to him.

So, now that we know what agency is, how do you give your characters agency?

Well, for one, let your damsel rescue herself. I’m only partially being sarcastic here. There are so many stories that I’ve read or seen or played through on a video console where the woman is supposed to be this tough chick and the next thing I know we’re staging a rescue mission.

I’m not talking a “Taken” situation where the girl is obviously a teenager and not a kick ass cop. I’m literally talking cops and female tomboy fighter type characters. For fuck’s sake, let her take care of herself by letting her get out of the situation. Does it give your boy character less to do? Well, it certainly makes me respect him a bit more.

In order to give the character power, you have to give the characters the abilities to do what the story requires them to do. If there is a bomb about to go off, and your character is going “is it the red wire or the blue wire” it’s not really the time to be learning this on the fly. Just run. In a lot of stories I read or see, characters are supposed to be able to do certain things or know certain things in order to solve the conflict and well they don’t. And this means, they are either learning on the fly or basically, they don’t have power and thus are relying on others to change the situation.

It’s not a good look, not a good book, I stop reading. Look, if they’re going bawl or almost die the entire way through the whole book, I’m not interested.

A second thing to give a character power outside of making them actually competent at something, is giving them a way out that they can successfully achieve. There has to be a solution that your character can do. This sort of goes hand in hand with your character having the correct knowledge and abilities. Say, in the Fast & the Furious movies, the solution to the problems usually ends up being driving cars. If your character can’t drive a car, then, your character really isn’t good for that type of story.

Thirdly, give your characters an actual position or job with power that means something. All right, so maybe you’re writing a story like Wanted where the character is in a dead end data entry job and they’re finding their power by becoming an assassin. That’s one type of “character finding their agency by switching careers” type of story. Otherwise, if your character is staying in that career, give them some sort of power. If they are in management, then let them actually manage. Sure, part of the conflict may be that other people are undermining them or taking credit for their ideas or talking over them, but that’s part of the character learning how to use their power. If they don’t know how to use their power, then there is really no point to the story.

Say, your character is a cop. Then, they’re going to be solving crimes and have a cast of people who support them and help them solve crimes. But they’re the ones putting the clues together to figure out who did it. (See, once again they have to have the abilities and skills to solve crime. If your character is not someone who knows how to solve crime, then, they shouldn’t be in a story about solving crime. I can think of at least 3 series off the top of my head that have committed this sin.) (No. I’m not naming names.)

Look, two characters that have successful agency are Rachel Morgan by Kim Harrison and Harry Dresden by Jim Butcher. Whether or not you like the way the story goes and how the characters use their agency is an entirely different thing. The point is that these characters are set up for success by having a modest amount of power, the ability to use that power and the means to find a successful way to solve their problems.

A character that is not the main character and doesn’t have successful power or agency is the player character in Star Stable Online. The character (despite supposedly being born the latest reincarnation of Aideen, I suddenly feel like Neo) has no training. We don’t have any powers to be able to stand up to Garnok. And if we do have powers, we don’t have access to them to use them properly or at all. In fact, as new comers and new horse riders, we don’t know anything about Jorvik or Aideen or Dark Core or GED. We’re campers on a bit of an exploration spree and we don’t even have any mundane power of being a princess or a cop or an official Druid to help us enforce whatever we do. We have to rely on others to do things. Our only option, as the main character and player character in this game, to when trouble happens is to run away on our horse.

That’s not a character with any agency. We are no more than the sidekick or worse, a damsel in distress. (Ironically, we’re trying to rescue another couple girls who are trapped/kidnapped in Pandora and are damsels in distress. These are supposedly powerful characters too. So, not impressed.)

Give your characters some sort of agency. Most importantly, they need to be able to find a solution to their problems. They should have the abilities and skills to execute the solutions. And/Or thirdly, they should have a job or position of power that gives them the authority to implement the solutions in a crisis. Then, and only then, will your character have power and control over the story no matter if they are instigating the conflict or reacting to the conflict.