#writing crime fiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The KCSC sent more than 20K requests to delete posts related to prostitution and porn to Tumblr from January to June 2017.

#writing crime fiction

em-dash-press · 1 year

Text

8 Tips for Writing Crime Fiction

People love a good whodunit. It’s why there are so many crime fiction subgenres: detective fiction, courtroom fiction, thrillers, cozy mysteries, historical mysteries, and more.

If you want to try your hand at a story centralized around a crime, you might wonder if you need detective experience or a lifetime in the actual crime world to make a great short story or novel.

Check out these tips to find out what you need to get started.

Tips for Writing Crime Fiction Stories

1. Read Crime Novels or Short Stories

When someone wants to become great at sports, they find a coach. When they want to start a new career path, they go to school or find a mentor.

If you want to write crime fiction and you’ve never tried it before, treat yourself to some new reading material. You can browse the latest crime novels or short story collections to see what readers can’t get enough of. As you read with the intention of studying the work through your writer’s eyes, you’ll learn how to pull a crime story together.

Pay attention to how the authors build tension, introduce new facts and pull characters together through the primary criminal act in the plot. Note whatever interests you or makes you excited to read the next page.

2. Pick Your Conflict

While you can have multiple types of conflict in a successful story, you should pick a primary conflict as your crime fiction plot device. The crime itself could kick off your story and push everything forward, or it could be what makes your story fall apart on purpose.

Will you write an interpersonal detective story or involve the criminals themselves? Maybe your narrative will center on a victim’s loved one who becomes your protagonist. Your primary conflict will shape your plot and help you create the best protagonist to carry your story.

3. Create Your Crime First

It’s not impossible to write a crime story without detailing the crime itself before you start writing—but it’s much easier. It’s especially important if you’re planning to write a novel because there are so many elements that rely on things like:

Who does the crime?

What is the crime?

When does it happen?

Why does it happen?

Where does it happen?

What’s the motivation for doing this crime (if any)?

What are the repercussions of this crime (for all of your involved characters and their world)?

You’ll spin everything out from the crime, so start by picking an illegal event you want to write about. If you need help, read newspaper articles or browse true crime documentary descriptions to make a list of possibilities.

4. Save Your Most Helpful Research Sources

The realism of crime fiction plays a significant role in interesting your readers. You’ll need to research so much when you know what your plot will hold and what crime it involves.

You might spend weeks, months, or even years reading about things like:

How your protagonist’s world works before the crime and how the crime changes it

How DNA profiling does and doesn’t work

How first responders and cops handle crime scenes

How people are treated by the media when they or their loved one are hurt in a crime

How the legal proceedings afterward work for your protagonist

Once you know how the framework of each element works, you can create plot twists by causing slight breaks in the systems. I highly recommend saving pictures, links, and detailed notes in digital documents like a Google Doc or spreadsheet. You can also use the resources listed here to find other ways to visually save your research.

5. Give Your Antagonist a Motivation

Many crimes happen because people plan them to their advantage. A robber steals money because they have overwhelming medical debt. A killer murders someone who hurt them in the past.

The motivations won’t always be morally right, but they have to exist. Make sure your antagonist has one before and after the crime occurs. How does the event change their motivations or goals? That’s essential to know to keep them grounded within their own realm of reasoning.

If you’re writing a crime that wasn’t intentional, there has to be a motivation carrying your antagonist forward in the aftermath. What’s making them make their decisions regarding how they cover up the crime or distance themselves from it?

Tips to Take Care of Yourself While Writing Crime Fiction

1. Check In With Yourself

It’s so easy to bury your emotional well-being while writing a dark story. You might want to finish it on time or get through a particularly gruesome part of the plot, but pushing your emotional state to the side will only lead to burnout or worse.

Check in with your emotions to see what you need throughout your writing process. Sit quietly by yourself and ask what emotions are present. Let them speak above your story’s needs or your other responsibilities. Then see if those emotions have been lingering for the last week or two. Journaling can help with this, but you can also record your thoughts in the Notes app on your phone or a spare piece of paper by your laptop.

You might need to step away from your work for a bit or write a more laid-back story to give your mind a break. Maybe a good cry will release the pent-up emotions from your hours of research into how cruel humans can become.

Writing about darkness doesn’t mean you have to be trapped in that darkness for however long it takes to write the story.

Take care of yourself first. You’re more important than any story.

If your mind ever starts to feel overwhelmed while you’re writing a story with heavy thematic elements or violent events, please get help. I highly recommend the sliding-scale therapy available through OpenPath (sessions can become as little as $30/hour). You can access licensed therapists in your area, arrange in-person or virtual appointments, and make each session fit within your budget.

2. Take Breaks

Pausing your creative writing for the day or even the week could be what your mind needs. Research shows regular breaks make people more productive because they utilize other areas of our minds and help us return with fresh energy.

It’s also important to take breaks for your emotional well-being. You may not feel as sucked into your antagonist’s (or protagonist’s) violent, dehumanized state of mind by walking away from your manuscript. Talk with someone you love, watch your favorite show, or go to that farmer’s market you’re always talking about.

It’s easier not to get caught up in negativity when you retain control over it through things like breaks.

3. Don’t Sweat Your Search History

Cops won’t show up at your door if you’re googling which artery pumps the most blood and how long it would take to bleed out if that artery opened. That’s not how the internet works.

There are very few odds that police will need your search history while trying to solve a crime one day. However, if it makes you uncomfortable, look into a VPN and use incognito mode (if you’re on Chrome. Firefox users can use Private Browsing.).

You can also avoid specific internet searches by watching true crime documentaries on a similar crime or reading books about similar cases. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable, especially if you’re writing a long-form manuscript that could take months or years to complete.

-----

If you’re interested in writing crime fiction, these are a few ways you can get started. Remember, you don’t have to write a perfect first draft. That’s impossible. All you need to do is start creating your world and use tips like these when you need help along the way.

#crime fiction #writing crime fiction #writeblr #writing tips #writing advice #self care for writers #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writing inspiration #writing help #writing resources #writing community

321 notes · View notes

redvioletarts · 1 month

Text

[Image ID: A photo of an 11oz black coffee mug with a custom design in white lineart and hand-lettered text. It says "Dear FBI" in large print over art of an Internet search bar with suggested previous searches below. The text in the search bar says "I'm A Writer I Swear" in all caps, and the previous searches read "detect gps tracker on car," "arsenic lethal dose," and "black market prices for..." with the rest of the text cut off. End ID.]

Lines printed up great on this one! The text came out nice and clear.

Writing research got you looking sketchy lately? Throw the Feds off your trail by also buying this. Guaranteed to not get you investigated for your weird search history. Probably. ...Well, it won't hurt.

(Maybe you should get a VPN in any case.)

The design prints up on both sides, to be fair to the lefties for once. All my mugs do.

Dear FBI, I'm A Writer I Swear <- get yours!

241 notes · View notes

stormyskies-writes · 1 month

Text

Mystery/Crime Story Prompts

I've compiled a list of some of my favourite mystery/crime/thriller story ideas/prompts! I hope you all enjoy!

When the police come to announce the death of your husband, you refuse to believe it. "That's impossible," you say. "Unfortunately it's the truth, miss," answers the policeman. "It's impossible," you say again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner."

One day you see a picture of yourself in a foreign newspaper. You ask someone to translate the headline for you: "SEARCH FOR MISSING CHILD STILL ONGOING".

A murder mystery where every character believes themself responsible for the death, and tries to cover it up.

You are a sleep walking murderer by night. During the day you are a detective unknowingly hunting yourself.

A private investigator is hired to find a child that has been missing for 30 years, only to eventually find out that they are the missing child and their current "parents" kidnapped them at birth.

You saw who took the kidnapped child when you were a child. Now, you are a detective determined to figure out the truth.

It's been 15 years since you were in an accident that gave you amnesia. All you have of your past life has been locked away in a chest you refused to open. Today, you decide to open it, only to discover you are one of the most prolific serial killers of all time, and within the chest are bloody tokens from each of your victims.

"Why is it whenever something happens, it is always you who finds the body?" the lead detective asks, seeming to believe you are guilty. You smile and shrug. "Just lucky I guess." In reality, you suffer from visions in your dreams and often wake up covered in blood, the first to find the latest body. And despite the detective thinking you are the bane of his existence, and you thinking he is an infuritaing ass, you know you must both work together to find the real murderer before it is too late.

If you want more of these kind of prompts, or if you want prompts for different genres, let me know!

I'm also so tempted to write that last prompt myself because it could be super fun.

#writing prompts #writing inspiration #crush prompts #dialogue prompts #romance prompts #couple prompts #otp prompts #writing ideas #prompt list #spicy prompts #romance #thriller #crime #crime fiction #mystery #mystery prompts #crime prompts

128 notes · View notes

xanyiaz · 2 months

Text

ok so this is random but i wrote a screenplay (basically a script) for a short film for my coursework a while ago and whilst i unfortunately lost it 😭 i really liked the idea/concept of it as like a short story and at the time when i wrote it, i wanted to make it even longer but i didn't bc my film teacher said it was too complicated 💀💀

but ANYWAYS i'm thinking of rewriting it and posting it for people to read 🤭 i tried writing a blurb for it below lol‼️

it wouldn't be a book or anything, just a veryvery short story- like maybe a few chapters.

37 notes · View notes

novlr · 2 months

Note

I used to write historical romance fiction but I want to switch genres and try my hand at something different. Are there any resources you would recommend for writing a gritty crime thriller, or a mystery novel?

I love trying out different genres!

We've got lots of plot templates available in the Reading Room (and if you want to see a specific genre one, do reach out and let us know!). I've put together a mystery/crime thriller template we released today to hopefully help get you started.

40 notes · View notes

lupeloto · 10 months

Text

"i can live without you, i just don't want to" one-shot

so i made a post here about one of my fav tropey prompts:

"I can live without you, I just don't want to." so i wrote a mickey and ian post reunion in 9x06 drabble about it! (it includes artist!mickey because he is everything to me)

Ian’s hand lingers on Mickey’s cheek, his gaze fixated on studying the sight before him; Mickey. He finds it nearly impossible to wrap his head around. Mickey was right there, laying under him, a soft closed-mouth smile spread across his face, piercing blue eyes staring back at him, the light dusting of freckles that covered his face. The ones Ian missed so goddamn much. Mickey lets his stare linger for a while, giving him time to process before bringing his hand to cup the back of Ian’s neck, guiding their lips together.

They lay on the bottom bunk together, shortly before lights out, Mickey sitting between Ian’s legs with his back leaning against Ian’s chest, doodling on a piece of paper. Neither has spoken much in the past half hour, not too interested in talking, more so just basking in each other’s company. That silence had always been one Ian enjoyed. It was always a comfortable silence when he was with Mickey, a warm one that blanketed the room rather than making it tense. Fuck, he missed him. With that, Ian leans down, pressing his nose deep into the tuft of messy black hair on Mickey’s head and inhaling deeply. He wasn’t subtle about it either, a loud, breathy noise accompanying it, one that caused Mickey to chuckle lightly.

“What the fuck you sniffin’ me for, ya weirdo?” Mickey questioned, turning his head slightly to look back at Ian.

“Just missed you…your smell,” Ian says, realizing it came out slightly creepy after catching a glimpse of Mickey’s raised eyebrows, “Okay I went so long without this, just let me have this.” He jokes, pressing a quick peck to the top of Mickey’s head as he turns back around, getting situated between Ian’s legs.

“Okay, creep. Fuckin’ sniff away I guess,” Mickey returns to his drawing.

“Just couldn’t live without me, huh?” Mickey asks, a smug grin plastered on his face, pretending to be focused on his sketching

Ian sighs dramatically, “Yeah that’s it,” he jokes, rolling his eyes, lifting his head up slightly to steal a glance at Mickey’s drawing.

He yanks it close to his chest in response, “No peeking, asshole,” Mickey scoffs.

Ian rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, his smile quickly fading, “That’s what fucking sucks the most,” he says, eyes fixated on the blank wall before them.

Mickey turns his head slightly, not completely facing Ian, rather a gesture to say What the fuck are you talking about?

“I could live without you, I had to live without you,” Ian references Mickey’s earlier comment, “But fuck, I don’t ever want to. Not ever again.” Ian’s gaze doesn’t break from the wall until he feels Mickey’s hand grip his thigh.

Mickey has almost completely turned around to face Ian, situated between his legs with his own crossed. His hand comes up to cradle Ian’s cheek with such a delicacy that he barely feels his skin, just the dusting of stubble that covered his cheeks and jaw. Ian’s eyes have shifted down, staring at his lap.

“Hey,” Mickey caresses his cheek with his thumb as Ian’s eyes finally meet his, “You won’t have to again. Okay? Promise…you fucking soft bitch.”

His stare lingers for a while on Ian’s eyes, he missed the feeling of getting lost in those soft green eyes. The ones that have pulled him out of so much shit, the ones that can instantly ground him with just one look. He brings their lips together aggressively, their mouth smashing into one another. Once they pull away, Ian manages to catch a glimpse of Mickey’s drawing, immediately softening at the sight. An incomplete outline of Ian’s side profile filled the page. Some areas were clearer than others, but Ian noticed Mickey had started on his freckles, sending a wave of warmth through his body.

Mickey notices what Ian was looking at, turning to him with a smug smile.

“And I’m the ‘soft fucking bitch’, huh?” Ian teases.

“Fuck off,” Mickey’s eyes roll to the back of his head, preparing to spit another sarcastic comment before Ian yanks him back in for another starved kiss.

#gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #gallavich fic #gallavich fan fiction #gallavich fanfic #i hate them a lot theyre gross (i love them so deeply)#i just love writing them being disgusting sappy okay is that a crime??#artist!mickey

117 notes · View notes

the-everqueen · 5 months

Note

for the AMA: what compels you most in a fictional character!

rage as a trauma response.

it compels me when a character spits in the face of god. when the response isn't "why did you let all this happen" but "how dare you let this happen." something about the assertion of agency in the wake of un-meaning. something about "there was never a Purpose, the point is what you make of it." this is undoubtedly because i was raised evangelical and continue to struggle with what i believe vs what i want to be true. pero also i think i was denied anger for so long (and even now my reflex when i'm hurt is to divert/repress/hide/sublimate anger) that it's cathartic for SOMEONE to get to be mad at the powers that be.

misogyny means it's usually (white) male characters who get these narrative arcs. this is evident in my blorbos: astarion from bg3, the corinthian from sandman, will graham from hannibal. (my immediate first thought was actually emilio sandoz from the sparrow, very literal autistic brain serving me well here lmao, what does it mean to be god's whore.) but my favorite female and genderqueer characters have this, too. saga anderson from alan wake 2 (LITERALLY tells both the in-game narrative force and the meta "fuck off, i'm done with other people writing my story"). essun from the broken earth trilogy (everyone who says they can't connect to her...i need you to examine yourself for misogynoir). vic from nos4a2. eurydice from hadestown. erica slaughter from something is killing the children. jade from my heart is a chainsaw.

(horror is obviously a huge medium for this...the final girl is a figure of righteous anger, the avenging angel, the woman who mows down the ultimate horror with a baseball bat or a butcher knife and she's right, she's in the right, she's the monster slayer, fuck you fear me.)

#ask games #AMA #crimeronan #this was SUCH a good ask thank you #also i'm not gonna write a whole essay here in the tags but i think part of why i adore horror #and why i have a hard time connecting to ''literary fiction'' women IS that allowance for rage #what a genre considers acceptable female rage sometimes feels So Hollow compared to what i might let myself feel irl #i like my trauma-rage bloody and awful #SOMEONE needs to pay in flesh #weirdly stephen king is really good at this when he lets himself do it? beverly from IT and arguably It from IT are peak #Women Should Do Crimes Actually #unfortunately most of the time Stephen King sucks at letting women be people #SO INSTEAD i recommend Stephen Graham Jones who just consistently does this #i ALSO don't think it's a coincidence that my favorite queer and women creators who write these arcs are also not white #nonwhite queer and female rage is Threatening To The Status Quo

40 notes · View notes

belovedviolence · 7 months

Text

— excerpt from little deaths.

was quite hesitant to share anything i've written of this story but i thought this was half-decent

taglist! @chargoeson @wispy-wallfish (ask to be added or removed)

42 notes · View notes

elliespuns · 1 month

Text

Well, you patronising little fuck!

Every time I end up reading a new chapter of my favorite story I tend to hit the heart button to hug the author with love and instead I see this? And they even have the audacity to go like... ":)" eh

#this is crime against humanity #explain this to me #ao3 #archive #kudos #reader's problems #creative writing #fan fiction #fics

18 notes · View notes

indecentpause · 4 months

Text

The Most Beautiful Puzzle: Chapter One

cw: stalking, aftermath of past abuse, covid times, police corruption, drug abuse, crime scenes, graphic violence, description of dead bodies

Meara's life has been one disappointment after another, and he's not expecting his new roommate situation to be anything but, either. But he needs to get out of the city and needs a room, and Josselin seems nice enough and has a bed to spare. But Josselin ends up being more than just a freelance translator, eccentric book hoarder, and taxidermy enthusiast, he's also a consulting detective; the one the police come to when they just can't crack a case. Meara accidentally gets swooped up in one such situation. It's the most excitement and fun he's ever had in his entire life. He's hooked.

Current taglist: @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @athenswrites @magic-is-something-we-create @idreamonpaper @winterandwords @thelaughingstag @revenantlore

Please let me know if you want to be tagged in these updates! This is my general list so those tagged here will also still be updated on other projects. If you only want to be on one and not the other, just let me know!

Read chapter one on Wattpad

Or on Ao3!

I'm super psyched to finally be able to share a finished story!! thank you to all you amazing folks who encouraged me and showed interest and asked questions and left comments and reblogs and likes!

24 notes · View notes

rats-and-robots · 4 months

Text

Abelard is used to the Rogue Trader’s… eccentricities. It isn't heretical to simply enjoy tighter spaces… but it certainly is odd that the man is often curled up–fingers silently flipping through some tome or another–high up in a crevice of the ship’s walls where he could, potentially, listen in to the goings on of his retinue.

Abelard has learned to scan the upper lines of the ship’s walls when searching for the Rogue Trader, but has also taken to doing so idlely, just to see if the oddly dexterous operator has found somewhere new to inhabit.

He doesn't do this to hide, he is easily spotted if one knows where to look. Most don't bother looking up.

Odd indeed. But right now, it is some measure of very, very humorous.

Garion von Valancius is lounged in the intricate mechanics of the ship like some feline beast on some jungle tree branch watching and listening to the ongoing bickering between Marazhai and Argenta. Abelard has taken to standing aside, noticing that Argenta–having been around the Lord Captain as long as he has–has also spotted him, throwing glances upward at the man every few seconds to glare at him for finding amusement in this. Marazhai, on the other hand, has just made a scathing comment about the Lord Captain, using that insulting word to refer to the Rogue Trader.

“I believe I instructed you not to call me mon’keigh, Aezyrraesh.”

The drukhari jolted with all the grace of shattering glass, whipping around to look for where the voice came from. Argenta just laughed, and Abelard quietly chuckled into his hand.

“Up here.”

The dark eldar finally looked up, his face suddenly flush with fury and embarrassment, at a loss for words for a moment. Garion smirked down at him, the stretch of his cheeks distorting the warp-burn scar on the side of his face, patiently waiting the stunned xenos’ expression out. Finally, something came out of that fanged mouth, “What are you doing up there?”

“You haven't apologized–” Garion’s head tilts to the side, “–for your blatant disregard for my orders.”

Marazhai flinched, his eyes looking hard to one side, reminding Abelard of a spurned canine. He bowed his head ever so slightly, “My… apologies, Lord Captain…”

The Rogue Trader laughs openly, the metal claws of his replaced arm tapping along the metal he reclines on. “How obedient... You should behave even when you think I'm not around. Farris learned that lesson decades ago.” Abelard would swear an almost… hungry look crossed the drukhari’s face, but he promptly ignores it.

Garion clicks his tongue, the taunting grin falling away from his face, “However, as I've told the rest of my retinue; I am from a Forge World, I am far more comfortable in the recesses of machinery and cable than the open spaces. Out there,” he motions to the hallway, “I am exposed from many angles. Here, I am exposed from only one. Much of my idle time is spent in places like this.”

The drukhari considers that, head tilting to one side, “How interesting. Yet you're cornered there, not exposed and yet trapped. And what of your large open throne and Cathedral?”

“I despise the openness of both, but they are expected of me.” The smirk does not drop from the Rogue Trader's face, “Do you really think I am trapped, Aezyrraesh? Do you plan to attack me? With a sister of battle and my loyal Seneschal behind you?”

“No, but–”

“I am not trapped.” The interruption comes with a tone of finality, “And even were they gone and you with every intent to kill or torture me…” Fabric shifts, and the man draws a long blade previously sheathed in his sleeve, “You would swiftly find that I carry as many weapons as you have spikes in your armor.” The blade is hidden again, “Are you satisfied?”

A snicker and a sneer, “Never.”

Argenta makes a disgusted noise and the argument starts anew. Garion and Abelard share a glance, a simple look that simply said ‘don't let them kill one another’ before the Rogue Trader rolled from his side onto his back in the small space and drawing his datapad back up.

Abelard walks over, leaning against the wall below his Lord Captain, “Should I stop their bickering?”

“They can handle themselves against one another. Just make sure they don't stain my carpets or waste their lives on one another if they draw their weapons.” A small ‘beep’ from the datapad as the man has fully tuned out the argument once again, “Ones with passion such as theirs should have the opportunity to deal it out with one another. The battlefield will be more tolerable if they settle themselves now.”

Abelard tilts his head back. He forgets, often, that this is not, in fact, the Lord Captain's first time commanding such a large group, he still seems so young, and yet he handles the rabble with astonishing grace. He had once been a Crime Lord, had a council beneath him of valuable assets as likely to stab him in the back as they are to be doggedly loyal. He supposes someone like Marazhai may even be more familiar to him than someone like himself.

“Will you openly spar with him as you have the rest of us?”

This seems to make the trader pause. Abelard can only guess what is on his mind in the silence that draws out after it–from Garion, anyway. Did a drukhari, of all xenos, deserve the tradition of the von Valancius flagship? Much less the same one that had antagonized them for so long? At least, that is the line of thought he assumes.

“...Yes. I simply have to finish recovering from Commorragh.” The barely-audible murmur was followed by another small beep. A quiet admission that his oldest wounds still scream at him from being back in the blackened city.

A nod, “I will have the observation deck prepared as soon as you are ready.”

The two warriors huff at one another and part ways, finally. Marazhai shoots a curious look towards the Lord Captain before making his way down the hall.

#agoraphobia oneshot #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #rogue trader fan fiction #abelard werserian #marazhai aezyrraesh #sister argenta #garion von valancius #crime lord scum is actually an iconiclast who knew #coughcough hesahereticactually coughcough #eventually ill get to garion/marzi #eventually #i have to lay out Garion's story first #i gotta have convoluted world building or its not me lmao #ress writes

24 notes · View notes

witchofthesouls · 4 months

Note

I have this image of Jack standing next to Arcee as June introduces her new boyfriend, the Titan (insert name here). Jack was already mortified when he learned his mom was a robo-fucker. This is a humongous mech who turns into a space ship and a city. A cybertronian sized city! The teen is floping down on the base couch having a full on nervous breakdown trying to push away all questions he realy doesn't want to think about, let alone get the answers too.

Meanwhile you have the Autobots marveling over June becomeing the first new cityspeaker since before the war. Also just the Quintessions being active is Alarming™️.

Who knows what our unhinged Titan friend is going to do when he learns human lives are so short especially if he's got a personality that's part Ratchet's and part Optimus.

Jack is having a breakdown for entirely different reasons because the Cybertronian gods did a coin toss to see if June will have Megatron and his child at Thanksgiving/Christmas holidays or if she will plan Megatron's demise. They'll either get along like dynamite in a mine, someone will end up dead, or both.

He has no idea how it will turn out, but when his mom has a Project. It's hers.

And I meant it's June that has a personality between Ratchet and Orion Pax. Like every good hospital worker with shitty administration, she's very much a person who has Malicious Compliance embedded in her bones with the addition of spite, energy drinks, and hidden contraband somewhere you wouldn't expect under a serene smile and a spine of steel.

If you are her people, then she'll mother-hen the shit out of you. She's intense and she knows that. June has gotten better over the years in that aspect, but should a friend or family need help, she's there.

20/10 will drive you to your surgery at 4 am as a designated driver, terrify your shitty apartment managers into compliance, or help plan a massive heist to take back all the money your cheating lover has stolen over the years for their side piece(s). She's built on solid alibis and documentation, documentation, and oh documentation.

She made a nest of giant pillows in the garage for Arcee, and even partitioned it out to give the femme the privacy to be rest in her root-mode when June needs to use the clicker. And Jack uncovered the plans to target Airachnid, and he has no idea how to feel about it because he can tell that his mom is heavily utilizing the medical commentary from Ratchet, the details of the 'bots' exploits that Miko manages to wheedle out, and his own experiences with 'bot-eating parasites...

The unhinged Titan has found a match, but it's not romantic. Oh no, June Darby now has a life-long project to spruce it up. And said Titan is not only over the moon that its new favorite person with similar levels of devotion, but has a lineage with a son that looks so much like her. It was once a major research facility that dealt with xenobiology. It's not above looking into ways to expand their lifespans. Anything for their favorite. Anything. Even if it must lure the resident scientists to its bosom and trap them to make use of its repository of accumulated data.

#ask #bookandyarndragon #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #june darby #jack darby #megatron #parental relationship #fic ideas #my thoughts #my writing #maccadam #look we need more fictional adults in unhinged yet solid friendships #like we need the friends to celebrate life events and still commit crimes together #Jack has it as well but under a different flavor #It's the “I'm responsible for your ass” flavor

49 notes · View notes

pbj-katz · 1 month

Text

The Surreal Murder of Stephanie Marsland

Stephanie Marsland died Friday, March 15th, 2019, she had turned 16 only three weeks earlier. They found her on the east side of Yew Dr., approximately a quarter before four in Harpy, Colorado. During the initial examination, experts determined she had died only 15 minutes prior to the discovery.

Drowning.

She was face down in a puddle of maybe 4 inches of water; it had rained through the night before, and into the day, stopping only an hour before school was released. The pothole that held the water was the infamous Silly Billy hole. The name, well disputed on who had given it to the pothole, was in front of the house of William Harris, an elderly man who, as many of the folks who lived in Harpy would have claimed, had been living in the house before the town was even built. Despite the rumors right after his death from a heart attack three days later, William Harris was not the one to find the girl. No, that task was left to 10-year-old Sean Abshear, who sat on the ground with wet cement soaking into his brand new jeans and screamed until someone pulled him away from the sight.

“Those jeans, they were stained. I had to throw them away. Spent nearly 90 dollars on them and threw them away because Sean didn’t have the common sense to knock on a door. He gets that from his father.” His mother, Kimberly Abshear, would tell their neighbor Beverly Turner when asked what had happened that day. But of course, when Beverly went over to the Abshear’s house, she was looking for the gruesome details.

Within four months, Silly Billy, who had been filled with asphalt every year only to return deeper and more vengeful each year, would disappear. As if overnight, the town of Harpy would close Yew Dr., and reopen it three weeks later, freshly paved.

“I guess something good came from that girl’s death.” Fred Bowman stood on his porch early in the morning, looking out on the new street. Standing just outside the door, his husband felt a shiver crawl up his back, the only other person who could have heard.

That girl.

“Stephanie was an angel; she had this bright future. We had just started talking about colleges, about her major, about growing. She wasn’t stupid, she wouldn’t have lain down in a puddle, she wouldn’t have killed herself.” Fiona Marsland told a student-made documentary almost a year to the date of her daughter’s death.

Stephanie Marsland was described as a kind-hearted, easygoing girl. She loved dogs, and her younger brothers, often described as a second mother to them. Over the 16 years she was alive, she had an influential impact on the town of Harpy, though mostly gone unnoticed. She would volunteer at events, or at the local hospital, but she was also a shy girl.

“She wouldn’t have won any popularity competitions, that’s for sure. The girl was smart, no question, but the girl was also dim. She could write a paper, and it would be this masterpiece, but the second the girl opened her mouth, nothing would come out. She had friends, I’ve seen her with friends, and she wasn’t ever without someone in the class to team up with, but once all eyes fell on her, she would freeze.” Launa Hempton, Stephanie’s sophomore biology teacher, would tell the police when they first launched their investigation. “No one hated that girl, or at least, I don’t think anyone would. There was nothing to hate, she probably didn’t have a single negative thought in her head. Poor girl, she probably passed out and fell into the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The most popular theory that passed around Harpy. On her way home, Stephanie lost consciousness and accidentally fell into Silly Billy, tragically drowning while no one was aware. But that could not be the case. In the official autopsy, the cause of death was purely drowning. There were no apparent reasons for her to lose consciousness; she was adequately hydrated and had food in her stomach. There were no indications of diabetes, drugs, or alcohol in her system. She did not suffer from anemia, seizures, or low blood pressure, and all her organs appeared to be in good health. Besides the post-mortem broken rib from the CPR, there was no trauma to the body, no blunt force, no sign of any sort of struggle, and no trauma to her body or genitals, her hymen was still intact with no signs of any sort of penetration.

Absolutely no sign of trauma.

In the case of Ms. Stephanie Marsland, her examination came back entirely unremarkable. In the ruling of her death, it appears, in my professional opinion, that she unequivocally drowned. No evidence indicated a fall; had she passed out as suggested, there would have been visible marks on her body, especially if she had completely lost consciousness and couldn’t protect herself. Any sort of wounds I found, three in total, at least a day old, if not older, please refer to my official records for more information on the wounds. Ms. Marsland was the picture of a healthy 16-year-old youth, I have doubts she had ever touched alcohol or any drug stronger than Tylenol. All foreign fibers and hairs came back explainable, again refer to my report. I signed off on the autopsy as drowning, with my report reading: Ms. Stephanie Marsland was in exceptional health, if she momentarily lost consciousness, she would have had lay down and rolled to the point her face found the water, she purposely placed herself into the water, or, and most likely, since an article of clothing seemed to have been removed from the body, she was placed there.

The investigation started within a few days of her death, teens were pulled from classes to answer questions, one of them being maybe Stephanie’s best friend. Jacklyn Pappas sat in front of the police, the grease pen drawn mustache for her dress rehearsal of Hamlet, playing Horatio, still on her face. The questions were straightforward, how long had she known Stephanie? (Since childhood.) How long have you two been friends? (Since childhood.) How well did she know her? (Better than anyone at that school, I would say.) When was the last time she had seen her? (As they dressed after PE.) Was Stephanie acting strange? (No.) Was she showing signs of distress? (I don’t think so.) Did she ever mention feeling sad, depressed, suicidal? (No, despite what people say, she was never a sad person.) What do people say? (Stephanie was suicidal because Justin Goodwin had no interest in her.) Who is Justin Goodwin? (A boy Stephanie did like, a boy that she felt she would never have a chance with.) Did she ever talk to Mr. Goodwin? (No, she was too shy.) Did that make her sad? (No, maybe a little, but she rarely talked about it, she was more focused on her future.) Was Stephanie wearing a bra that day?

Jacklyn could not recall precisely what color, maybe purple, but yes, Stephanie was wearing a bra that day. They had changed twice in front of each other, once for PE, and the second after, both times Jacklyn knew for a fact she was in a bra. To Jacklyn, she would have noticed if Stephanie had not, because, despite her petite frame, she was heavy-breasted. She was not one to go without a bra, not when she knew the attention her breast had already garnered with it on, and if there was anything that she hated more, it was the gawking she got when she began to fill out at the early age of 11. She had mentioned reduction surgery more than once, but it was a dream for when she was older.

When she was found face down in that puddle, Glenn Hopper, a retired medic three houses down from where the boy sat screaming, pulled her from the puddle and administered CPR, he noted the girl had no bra on. Even when her mother sobbed in the morgue with the bag of clothing that she had been wearing, she asked where the bra was. As if the fact this girl had drowned in a puddle did not raise enough eyebrows, the missing article of clothing did. The entire town seemed to agree unanimously that Stephanie lying face first in a puddle was acceptable, but they drew the line at the missing bra.

“She was really nice, she was pretty too, I don’t think many people saw that, but she was a pretty girl.” Franklin Singur had been recorded saying over the phone to the Just a Second in Time podcast. Later in the call, he mentioned to Theresa Hernandez more on the subject. “I know she had gone on one date, maybe a few weeks before her death, I don’t know if you would even call it that, but she had gone out with Lincoln Perry, and he was there that day, one of the last people to see her alive.”

“Did he do it?” Theresa would ask.

“No, no, it’s too easy, isn’t it? But no, Lincoln was just a bystander that day, the real beef was between Justin Goodwin, and Patrick Hawkins. Lincoln was probably home right after she left and had an alibi. I remember eyes were on him for a hot second, but off as if they were like, no, not Lincoln Perry.”

“What exactly do you mean the beef was between Justin Goodwin and Patrick Hawkins?”

The argument of precisely when Justin and Patrick’s abhor for one another began narrowed down to three separate incidents. When questioned by the police, Lincoln would recount the first one, as he had volunteered to talk to them the very second he heard of Stephanie’s passing. “Justin and Patrick never liked each other, Justin grew up in Harpy, where Patrick showed up in the second grade. He was always strange, Patrick, he had these jars, tiny jars, and in the jars he would put bugs. He had one friend, Drake, and Drake isn’t weird, we played basketball together, but even Drake never jumped to Patrick’s defense. We would call him weird, and where Drake would never join in, he would keep his mouth shut. Patrick started our school, and from day one Justin didn’t like the guy. It was never directly one thing, but I think what set it off was when, and we were kids, like seven or eight, but Justin opened those jars into Patrick’s lunchbox, and when he opened it all these weird insects scurried around the table. Everyone was screaming, but Justin was saying, ‘I told you, the freak eats them.’”

The next incident was told by Nicolas Banter after the case was closed when the official transcripts had been released, and the first set of true crime investigators clamped down. Henry James’ podcast, The Back Waters Crimes, would be one of the first to take an interest in the story. Although the broadcast lacked enough information to make it worthwhile, a patron tier granted the audience who contributed five dollars a month the ability to read transcripts of unreleased episodes.

Nicolas Banter: Leans back in his chair, chuckling at the report. Of course, that is the moment Link would say, the bugs.

Henry James: You think that wasn’t it?

Nicolas: No, this paints Justin in a negative light, as if he just judged the freak right off the bat. Yes, what Lincoln said was true, the two clearly hated each other the second their eyes met, but if it wasn’t for Patrick, it wouldn’t have escalated to this.

Henry: So, you think Patrick pushed Justin to spill the bugs in his lunch bag?

Nicolas: No, I know for a fact it was. Patrick envied Justin, his dad was a chief of police in a different county, about a week before Chief Goodwin arrested Patrick’s dad when he ran a stop sign, and then failed a sobriety test. You see, Patrick was in the damn car. I don’t know if he saw Goodwin and figured, or was told, but the next time he saw Justin he jumped on him, punching the shit out of him, screaming at him. I would not be surprised if the guy killed Stephanie, if COVID didn’t happen, I feel like the investigation would have ended differently.

Henry: What was he saying? To Justin, when he was hitting him?

Nicolas: ‘F—k you and f—k your pig father.’

The case never categorically went cold, but as the year ended, and the climb into 2020 happened, one year came, and it passed one piece of evidence reigniting interest in the case until it came to an abrupt halt late in March 2020, when the country shut down due to the pandemic. Only Drake Hamal knew a story that the other two were oblivious to, potentially explaining the true cause of the two boys’ mutual hatred. He penned his human-interest story in his college newspaper detailing the event.

Nearly three years ago, while I was in high school, a girl was found dead. She had been drowned in a puddle four blocks from my house. The biggest spotlight fell on two students that I had known since elementary school, an incident that occurred at school, and then developed through the day until escalating off campus. In the end, a girl was found dead, and the boy’s pointed fingers at the other, as they had done almost a decade before.

PH moved from Utah, his family was Mormons, as was JG, they belonged to the same church. Years later, PH finally revealed to me the exact details of what had occurred, a truth that I deeply regretted knowing. JG was no stranger to attending events put on by Mr. G, who was heavily involved in the church. The boys, who must have been seven, were left to watch a movie in JG’s family den, when the DVD skipped, and they both went up to the main house to inform the adults, but found the house empty. PH claimed that JG suggested checking upstairs, but they both ascended to the second floor upon hearing a noise. It was a relief, PH would tell me, they weren’t alone, but as he went to open the door, JG told him no, that he wasn’t allowed to when the door was shut, but PH still turned the knob.

PH’s parents plus JG’s mother were engaged in sexual relations as JG’s dad watched. He would tell me Mr. G sat in a chair tucked back in the corner, naked as the others were, but still never taking his eyes off what was unfolding in front of him. As a teenager, we were just about 15 when this story was told to me; he understood what exactly was happening, but there, as he saw what he would call a pathetic pig watch his wife take it, he felt as if Mr. G was who to blame, by extension, JG too.

Yes, they hated each other the second they met, the classic clashing of personalities, there PH would put his disgust for his own parents all on to whom he felt was liable. He claimed he was the one who pushed JG into the door, but JG would be the first one to throw a punch. Their parents would come out of the room still naked, to the scuffle. It would end with the H’s leaving, and within a week of the embarrassing tussle, JG’s father would be arresting PH’s father.

The article will tell the story of the incident that would lead to the fight outside of the school on the afternoon of March 15th, which would have been argued to lead to the death of Stephanie Marsland, an incident that would be better detailed in the official police report, besides the partial redaction. The report is:

Monday, March 25th, 2019

The past week I have had the pleasure of talking to one Mr. Patrick Hawkins and Mr. Justin Goodwin, son of Delt county’s Chief Goodwin. They eagerly shared the details of the events that transpired on Friday, March 15th, evidence securely gathered and awaiting processing. Mr. Goodwin’s testimony is as follows; rap star Gaze the Baptist came out with a new clothing line late the year before, selling out as fast as it had gone up. This clothing line included a $300 pair of jeans that Mr. Goodwin would claim he had been saving up to get and was one of the lucky ones to purchase. That week the package came, and despite Mrs. Goodwin’s protest of letting her son leave the house with those pants on, he would arrive at school in them. He would claim he was aware of Mr. Hawkin’s being a fan of this rapper, and when he showed up in the jeans, Mr. Goodwin is quoted as saying; “I knew I made a mistake, the look Patrick gave me was telling me I would not leave the school without regretting wearing them.”

The pants in question were taken from Mr. Goodwin and put on evidence, but later released back to the boy.

It had been noted that Mr. Hawkin’s favorite form of taking notes was in red pens, not just by Mr. Goodwin, but by other classmates and teachers. Some even were quoted as saying he would use variations of shades, but always red. In their shared 3rd period class, Mr. Goodwin would take his seat right before the late bell and proceed with the class as usual, taking notes and interacting as he would normally. At this moment in his story, he looked out the window for a long time, his face turning a slight red as he thought of his next words. He was called up to the front of the class to give his presentation, one he claimed he had spent weeks preparing, and as he stood the giggling started, and by the time he was in front of the class, everyone was laughing.

“Madison Thorpe even asked me if I needed a tampon, and that’s how the period jokes started.” He would tell us. On the left side, and into the middle of his buttocks, was a red stain. The pants, when presented as evidence, did not show any resemblance to blood stains. The stain had seeped into his pants, through his briefs, and stained his skin. “Even now, what? Two weeks later? I still have a goddamn stain on my ass.” This is where, unprompted, Mr. Goodwin would stand up, and present the stain on his buttocks, mostly faded but a clear pink blob. “It was that goddamn freak, and his goddamn red pens.”

When asked about the ink, Mr. Hawkins smiled but shook his head. “No, I didn’t do it, yes, it was funny, but the asshole deserved it.” When asked how he thought the ink got on his chair, Mr. Hawkins would tell us he was unsure, though he couldn’t have done it even though he knew he had a “reputation of red ink”, how the boy would put it. We questioned whether he perceived the targeting of Mr. Goodwin with red ink as a mere coincidence. “I got to class with two other people, while three others were already seated. I sit nowhere near Justin, if I wanted to do it, the others would have seen me.”

Both admitted to the lunchtime confrontation, where Mr. Goodwin went up to Mr. Hawkins and shoved him to the ground but was pulled away before it could escalate. In the next class, the two shared they were separated, but comments between the two were heard from other classmates. The last class, one shared with Ms. Marsland, ended while one boy was sent to the library and the other to the computer lab after a brawl almost broke out during quiet time.

Classmate, Peter Waller, told the police that it started when Mr. Goodwin went to turn a paper in, he went the long way around the desk to knock into Mr. Hawkins’ arm, prompting Mr. Hawkins to rise and was quoted saying; “Face me like a man.” Three others impeded the two before they were separated.

The real confrontation did not start until after school had gotten out.

[Redacted]

The redaction was blacked out in permanent marker in the unofficial report, but when typed out, a simple redacted was placed, ending the document. The blackout second was just about a page and a half long, but no other reports seem to mention what event took place after the school bell released the school. Edward Hobble, a private investigator, became interested in the case in his time, cooped up in his house during the shutdown. Hobble had grown up in a town near Harpy, and the case was brought to his attention by his son, who was writing his senior thesis on the case.

At first glance, Hoddle quickly concluded that the details were clear and straightforward. His theory, his son would quote him saying in the 30 page paper on the Marsland, was that she probably had an anxiety attack, the girl had clearly had an issue there and laid down on the ground when she felt dizzy and must have rolled into the puddle. The missing bra didn’t catch his attention, it was the unofficial redaction that did.

“Goodwin’s father was the chief of police, and then more than a page was redacted the second they mentioned the girl’s name. If anyone knows what happened to that girl, it’s either or both boys.”

The only people who were aware of what happened the afternoon of March 15th were Justin Goodwin, Patrick Hawkins, Lincoln Perry, and Nicolas Banter. In none of the interviews of investigations, has it been released whether Lincoln or Nicolas mention that afternoon confrontation, or if that information was told, just once more redacted. The common theory in a true crime Reddit thread, about the Stephanie Marsland case was Chief Goodwin made sure the boys wouldn’t talk. It was not until u/ [deleted] took to the forum.

There is a common theory that Chief Goodwin silenced those involved in the Goodwin v. Hawkins, and while I can confirm that we were told to keep our mouths shut, we never had to sign anything. We were minors, for Christ’s sake, and it’s not because we killed that girl. We left school, the three of us, and Justin was steamed up. He had changed into his gym shorts, and yes, he had this giant ass stain on his ass, I’d be pissed too. It was common knowledge that Patrick frequently used the back way home, which ran behind Yew Dr. There was a stream along the bank that Justin walk to, especially after it rained, but that day he kept making this jerky movement, like he was trying to see up the bank. We heard whistling. That’s the thing about Patrick all these reports failed to mention, this weirdo would whilst, very out of tone, always he would walk by, whistling.

I think Link said something like ‘I think that’s Patrick’ or something, but before he could even finish Justin was charging up the bank, us behind him. Link was the one to want to put a stop to the violence, but even there as Patrick froze as we bobbed up that mound, I think we all had the same idea, we’d scare the freak.

Justin was calling this guy every damn name he could think of, he grabbed him by the jacket and was jerking at him; we joined in, pushing him. I don’t know what the hell the kid had in his backpack, maybe jars of bugs, [A comment that would not be made clear until later, and many who would respond to this post would question this one line in particular] but it was heavy, he kept losing his balance until he finally fell over. Justin grabbed him by his ankles, dragging him towards the bank, telling him he was going to shove his face into the water.

If you want my opinion, that’s the reason that Chief Goodwin went out of his way to keep us quiet, Justin threatening to dunk this kid, and then the girl was found dead less than an hour later that exact way. But Patrick kicked out hard, and Justin lost his grip.

We grabbed Patrick before he could get away and held him for Justin, who looked as if he could murder Patrick. I think we would have let him go from an expression alone, but a voice stopped it.

Stephanie was shy, it’s been told over and over, but honestly, I didn’t think she would have ever said anything there if she didn’t see Lincoln. He liked her a lot, and I think she liked him, they had gone on a few dates, but he said she was too nervous to even kiss him, but he’s a good guy, he probably never pushed it. I didn’t know much more about her, but there she was, her hands on her hips as if she was a goddamn superhero. She told us to let Patrick go, to leave him alone, that three against one was grossly unfair.

Shit, it was the most I had ever heard the girl talk. Link was embarrassed, he let go first and even took a few steps away from the freak. Justin, on the other hand, just looked at her as if she was on the same level as Patrick and told her to eff off. Now, I doubted anyone had ever spoken to Stephanie like that, but it did not phase her. She told him he was being a bully in class, and he was being a bully now.

If I remember correctly, he looked at Lincoln in a way to ask him to calm his girl, but no one said anything back to her. She went up to Patrick, put her hand on his arm, and they left together.

Patrick Hawkins was the last one to be seen with her alive.

Whatever happened to Stephanie Marsland, Patrick is the only person who knows.

At the time of the post, an overwhelming interest in Stephanie Marsland flooded the internet. The subreddit became divided between believers and skeptics, as nobody could confirm the identity of the person speculated to be Nicolas Banter.

According to U/BrutalStar, it was impossible for it to be him, as it was a throwaway account that was created and deleted on the same day. However, it was u/GodsPrankOnAbraham that pointed out that the details in the story seemed to match up well with the reports that would be released later in the week.

It wasn’t until YouTuber Tylor Kamer, who would tell his own story on this post that the truth came to light. In the video, Kramer retold the story of Stephanie Marsland, connecting the dots to this Reddit comment. But was it truly Nicolas Banter who posted the comment?

“Here with me,” Kamer’s voice came over a video of him doing his research. “Is the real-life Nicolas Banter. Hello Nick, thank you for joining me today.”

Transcripts come over the screen. “Hi Tylor, thank you for reaching out.”

“Now, you were there that day, as it has been presented in the evidence.”

“Yes.”

“I know you met with Henry James’s podcast right after the comment had popped up on Reddit, but I read over those transcripts, and it never mentions the comment.”

“I think I did the interview, man, I don’t know, a week, maybe more after the comment on the subreddit, and I doubt Henry knew about it. Maybe a month later, I received an email, and I swore it was going to ask me for another interview just about the comment, but no, it was just telling me he didn’t have enough evidence for a full episode and that he would be put it on his Patron. I shrugged it off, wasn’t too aware how much popularity in the comment had gained.”

“Now, Nick, let me ask the question we all have been wondering since the comment came to light a year ago. Was that you?”

“Yes.” The words come on as music plays, and a voiceover goes more into detail about the comment before returning to the interview, but the unedited interview continues. “I have friends and something of a community that I connect with on Reddit. The whole Stephanie Marsland case was never fully connected to me, and I get where it is now, I realized that from that subreddit alone, but at the time she had shown up and was dead. One of my friends, I only really know him on Discord, Reddit, and Xbox, but he was the one that brought it to my attention. At one point our school photos were posted, and he was like ‘Man, I think this is you, it’s your name, and looks just like you. You never told me you killed a girl.’ At that point, I was just a freshman in college, on my own for the first time, and there was my picture in connection with Stephanie. I just created an account and deleted it, and I get how that would look, but I really didn’t want my account to be covered in Stephanie Marsland post from then on. What I wrote was true, I got a call from Lincoln a few weeks after and he didn’t even need to ask me if I wrote it, he was just like ‘Man hope to Christ Chief Goodwin doesn’t see that.’”

“You said that he never made you sign anything, what did he say to get Lincoln react like that?”

“‘You boys keep your goddamn mouth shut if you don’t want to end up in a juvenile detention center, the girl was basically raped, and drowned, that shit will never scrub off your name.’ But she wasn’t, yeah, the whole bra thing is weird, like she was never touched other than removing the bra? That’s trophy shit you read about in serial killers, but, I don’t know, we were one of the last people to see her alive, so yeah, we stayed quiet.”

“The bra, they found it though.”

“They found a bra, yes, but that was a year later, tucked in a goddamn maple tree.”

The case was never exactly cold, the police department of Harpy would claim they were just waiting through the rest of the evidence, but in the end, everyone knew how it would end. It would be an accidental drowning, all the strangeness surrounding the rest would be explained simply as; she had a panic attack and laid down and rolled, the missing bra might be that she felt constricted and removed it, Patrick and Justin would be cleared, and Stephanie Marsland would be forgotten.

Until the end of March 2020.

Couple Dean Oster and Patty Hearst would walk over their property on the outskirts of Harpy, a 3-archer land that backed into woods, when Patty spotted something sticking out of a tree. She would tell the newspaper that she thought nothing of it at first, bird would bring strange things into those trees, but then as they got closer, she said she cried. “It was a bra strap from the back. Dean saw it and goes ‘what is that?’ but there I was sobbing. It’s not like we didn’t find clothing on our property before, teen would sneak there to have sex, but it wasn’t the fact it was a bra, but it was black with these purple hearts, almost a year to the day they found the little girl dead.”

The evidence description of the bra is as fallows;

Agency: Harpy PD

Case Number: 09-0747

Item Number: 1

Date/Time: 03/10/2020, 1407

Description and/or Location: The bra, in size 36C, is black in color with purple hearts measuring approximately 2/3rds of an inch adorning the straps and cups. The fabric is covered in debris from the maple tree where it was discovered, but is otherwise in a clean condition. It must have been placed there within a day or two since no rainwater had soaked into the padding.

The information was not released to the public immediately. Fiona and Dave Marsland, along with Jacklyn Pappas, were shown it, but none of them could definitively confirm or deny if it belonged to Stephanie. Fiona would tell the police that she didn’t think so, Stephanie was more into solid colors, while Jacklyn would say maybe because she could remember purple, but both agreed on one thing. While the cup size was correct, the strap size was not. Fiona had brought samples of her bras, all reading 34C.

One size off. When asked if she would buy the bra because she liked it, but could not find her size, so she bought the size up? Fiona would firmly say no, and when prompted on why, because she only liked solid colors.

It was true, in photos presented, or videos, or any sort of media that would show Stephanie, she was always in a solid color shirt. From the age she would have dressed herself, a photo album marked Stephanie through the years, one could guess around seven, she would be in a solid color shirt, and jeans, or solid color leggings. Even her jackets and sweaters were all solid colors. Not even a brand, just one color.

In the photos that would be posted to her timeline, or she would be tagged in following her death would show her smiling with others, or doing her volunteer work, or playing the piano, all in solid colors, all but one photo.

It went unnoticed, until one Tumblr thread uncovered one photo that, until then, had gone unnoticed. The post emerged almost two years after the death.

anyone else notice that they keep talking about stephanie only wore solid colors but what about this photo?

The photo in question had three faces blurred as two of the people sat on steps outside of what looked to be a school, the other, alongside Stephanie, stood almost out of frame, but smiling at who took the photo, her shirt one of pink with flowers, a heart blooming out of the bundle. An altered picture emerged those who sat on the steps were Jacklyn Pappas, a guy she had seen and the original poster of the photo, Dale Hoffman, Stephanie, and next to her, almost completely cut off, but still obviously looking at her, was Justin Goodwin.

Justin Goodwin would be found converted to Catholicism right out of school, and in college majoring in philosophy, preparing himself to someday gain priesthood out in Rhode Island.

“Stephanie Marshland?” He had been shocked by the name as he agreed to sit down with amateur documentarian Rodger Dwyer. “That happened, my, what four years ago at this point? The case has been closed.”

“You are not aware of the popularity the story had gained on the internet over the last few years?”

“No, my online presence was never consistent in high school, and since I graduated, I have been completely off.” He would take this moment to look down at his hands, folded in front of him, before picking up his head to look just off camera where Rodger would be sitting. “I’m glad that Stephanie’s story is being told, I have prayed for her since her death, I pray for her safety as she ascended to God’s embrace.”

“Since the closure of her case, there has a few things that have been brought up in connection with her. Of course, you were a junior when the missing article of clothing was found, but are you aware of the controversy behind it?”

He would delicately shake his head. “Yes, I remember a bra was found, but I do also recall it was not hers.”

“There was not enough evidence to conclude if it was hers or not, but that’s not it. It had hearts on it. Everyone, including her mother, said she would wear soiled colors.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“But when posting photos for her birthday, someone posted this one.” Rodger would hold out a photo to Justin, whose eyebrows would come together, then relax.

“They think there was a relationship between Stephanie and I.” How he said it was not a question. “I hate to disappoint, but there was nothing between me and the girl. This photo was taken during a class project. If I remember correctly, we were heading to my house to work on it, and I was unaware I was being photographed.”

“But do you see how it implicates you? You are looking right at her.”

“I was not, I can see how you would think that, but I was looking at who was just off camera, the real person I was in a relationship with. I believe I have an uncropped version of this, or at least one taken concurrently.”

Rodger allowed Justin to leave, and within 20 minutes, he returned, this time carrying a photo album. As expected, another photo in it appeared nearly identical to the one posted, but with noticeable differences. Stephine stood a few steps above, a shy smile on her lips as she gazed at the photo taker. Dale affectionately kissed Jacklyn’s cheek, while Justin grinned as if he were laughing. However, the photo posted only displayed Nicolas Banter, as it had been cut off.

“After Stephanie left with Patrick that day, Nick and I went back to his place, his ring camera caught us 15 minutes before she would be found dead, and his mother was with us until I left an hour after.”

“What happened between you and Nick?”

“The same reason I left Mormonism, why I left Colorado. There was a force greater than me, greater than my relationship, greater than the world I had known and loved. If it weren’t for Patrick, I think that force would have consumed me, but after an exposure to my relationship with Nick, the novelty wore off for him, and the year we had spent together meant nothing. God came to me one night in a dream, and I saw the light there, I saw my path, it led me here. I wish it was different that day, if Patrick had exposed us sooner, maybe, maybe I wouldn’t hold the vengeful hate my father distilled in me, and I would have forgiven. Stephine may have lived.”

“What happened to Patrick?”

Patrick Hawkins. Grew up in Utah, until his father gained a promotion, moving his family to Colorado. He was the only child of the couple, but the youngest of his father who had been married once before, two children from that relationship, the younger of the two being over 10 years older than Patrick.

By the time he was about to finish his junior year of high school, concerning online comments surfaced about how he ‘wished I could take a semi-automatic to those fuckers’ getting him expelled. Little is known about what exactly happened to Patrick, questioning from the police made its rounds, but even those investigating could not find much after he left Harpy High.

At the time of Stephanie’s death, a video from in the interrogation room surfaced, Patrick sitting there with his father as the cops talked to the boy. “Patrick, you were the last one to see her alive, you left with her, no one else can tell where you were from the time she died to the time that you arrived home two hours after she had died.”

Patrick, who had his hood up, did not move. If he speaks, no mic can pick him up.

This guy did it, open and shut, why are we even fighting it? The comment with the most likes on the video would read.

Then, a little over a year later, Patrick once more sat in the same room, same cop, but this time with his mother, who would be recorded saying; “He’s a 17-year-old boy, he made a comment, he doesn’t even own a gun. Why are we here? Those kids pick on him, those kids hurt him, kick him, they put bugs in his lunch!”

“Ma’am.”

“No, do not ma’am me!”

“Mom.” Patrick would be heard saying. “I made a mistake, I’m aware of that. I had a bad day, and I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re online, how did you have a bad day?”

“There’s there snapchat group chat that leaked, some people who hate me are in it. They said… they said I take it in the ass. I was defending myself, I posted publicly that it’s Justin Goodwin that takes it up the ass by Nick Banter, and it got back to Goodwin. I walk to through the graveyard when I feel too cooped up, and two days ago I was jumped by Justin. He kicked the shit out of me. I got home, and I felt so shitty, I lost it.”

From the two tapes, something became clear to Penny Upton, a popular true crime blogger, dove deeper into the connection between Patrick Hawkins and Stephanie Marsland.

The Surreal Case of Stephanie Marsland

‘Part 13

As those who have been meticulously following my investigation into the case of Stephanie Marsland may know from part 1, I had said Patrick was the one who did it, and though through the last four posts has been Patrick focused, I can say for sure today I have evidence to prove myself wrong. Patrick was the last one to see her alive, that we are aware of, yes, and where Patrick ended up going to jail for an unrelated incident, he did not kill Stephanie. Last week, I carefully reviewed two interrogation tapes numerous times as I prepared to write this post, yet something felt amiss. Why did he not get arrested the first time? The time he refused to answer?

The digging process was proving to be extremely difficult, but thanks to my favorite sleuth, NotAnotherCrimePost, she had provided me with an actual alibi for Patrick, one that I revisited the second video to realize he did not do it.

A house next to the graveyard has a nest camera pointed right at the entrance, that day, Patrick walked through the gate in the last 10 minutes of Stephanie’s life and did not leave until over and hour later. Stephanie herself stepping into view, alive and well, before stepping out as soon as Patrick was out of sight.

The fence around the graveyard is 10 feet high, with no other way in or out. The alibi was airtight. Patrick Hawkins did not kill Stephanie, and with no other evidence, I would have to definitively close this case in the manner that all of you know I hate the most, but I am firmly labeling it a freak accident.’

A freak accident. Stephanie Marsland died by accident, every story would report so, the Harpy PD would close the case as accidental. With the popularity the case would gain over the course of two years, it would never come close to the truth, either coming to the same conclusion, or burning out, or simply losing interest.

The closest to the truth that ever came to light, was one comment on a post that would get three likes, but never picked up by any of the investigators, a comment that one person would write, would post, and would forget about, never perusing how close they would be to asking the first right question to this case.

Who took the photo?

Back in the two photos, where Stephanie would intentionally dress in an unusual manner for herself, clearly smiling at the person who took the photo.

Each one would say it, each interview would give off the answer, but the questions were not being asked, and by the end of 2023, the case of Stephanie Marsland was officially no longer discussed, and the public would move on to newer cases, more interesting ones, ones that they would know the questions for. As for Stephanie, she was still dead, she still would be dead, and the truth would decay away with her.

The truth would be in a notebook, one that the only person who knew what happened that day would write in but would burn simultaneously before the bra would be discovered. A notebook that would be a confession that would disappear before a single person could read it.

The passage wrote out longhand, in a red pen, read as follows; She was beautiful, young, pure. She came to me one night needing help, and I wanted to help. I thought telling her she was beautiful would have her turn away from me, but she didn’t. The more often we spent together, the more she bloomed, her personality showed through her clothing, and the way she would smile more freely, especially for me. I knew of her shyness, but my god, if you could see how composed she was in private, you’d understand why I loved her.

I could not understand why she defended Patrick, why she went against Justin, but it irritated me. She looked at me; she knew I was there, and still walked away with him. Yes, I would be the first to admit I was jealous, she would leave with him, but no, she walked him to the graveyard; I doubted they spoke as they walked there. I stayed back, watching, making sure that freak did nothing to her, but before he went in he thanked her, that was it, then she started away when she spotted me.

The argument started, and I didn’t mean to get so angry at her, but I could not understand why she would defy me like that. She tried so damn hard to tell me I had nothing to envy, but the hell, I did. My anger, it gave her that panic attack, and she was breathing so hard that, I don’t know; she passed out. I held on to her, holding her up, unsure what to do. I loved her, but she made her choice to go with Patrick, and I would not let Justin get humiliated by him. She wasn’t supposed to die; I brought her over to Silly Billy in thoughts that she would wake up as soon as her face hit the water. Laying her down on her side, I removed the bra, and rolled her until she was face down into the water. The plan was to plant the bra on Patrick, so I went back towards the graveyard to wait for him. She wouldn’t name me, she was smarter than that to do it, she would just say she didn’t know or remember, but as I waited, that kid began to scream, and when I got back to where I had left her, she was dead.

The rest would be written on another date in a blue pen.

I knew I should have come forward sooner, but shit, this is murder. I still have the damn bra, but I think Justin suspects me, my plan was to turn myself in, but tonight I think I will have myself a fire.

The composer reread over his confession before tossing it into the fire in front of him, watching the pages get eaten away by the flames. Then, from his pocket, he pulled out her bra, his finger stroking over the fabric, more hesitant to throw it in.

“Dad?” Justin’s voice caused the composer to jump before looking back at his son, the bra shoved back into his pocket. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I think, I think I’m going to go for a walk.” Chief Goodwin walked towards the front door.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“Put the fire out before you go to bed.” He refused to look back at his son, already suspecting his sexual orientation, already the greater force that would drive Justin away.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“One day, you’ll understand. Goodnight, son.” He stepped out of the house, setting his course into those woods.

12 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

p0zt-motem

Fred (motem)

corinadraws

that-rad-jewish-girl

תִּיקּוּן עוֹלָם

aikochanart-blog

~*AikoChanArt*~

unlikelypalacehorsegarden-blog

jungkook and his puberty