#they spark joy in me

[burning-peanut]

this is not my fault

Be aware - Tags: stalking • poor mental health • compulsions • violence • strong language • angst • victim blaming • does not suit me at all but in this fic there is no smut

The last tag is the most disturbing one.

He remembered clearly how he had put on the black, long-sleeved police shirt this morning, which was part of his sheriff persona. Part of the uniform that gave him the respect he lacked in the rest of his life. He remembered clearly how his fingers had gradually wandered over each button - which he had threaded one by one through the small eyelets, buttoning up his shirt. How the hard plastic had felt against his fingertips. That's why it didn't make sense that it was missing. The shirt. 

The light puffs of air, which he might not have even noticed if it weren't for the absence of his uniform top, brushed against his skin with feather-light touches. He got goose bumps. First on his arms, then all over his upper body. He felt cold. 

His arms ached in the unnatural position. They were tied behind his back. He couldn't tell with what, but he knew that the material pressing into his skin was anything but comfortable. His thumbs were already beginning to tingle slightly. The first signs that soon, in this unnatural position, they would fall asleep. He tried to change the position of his hands - to get the blood circulation going, which seemed to be hampered. But the restraints were too tight. 

He moaned softly as he tried to straighten his head, which had fallen forward in the sitting position. As he did so, he noticed a hot throbbing at the back of his head, its pulsations like jolts of electricity traveling across his skull to the back of his neck. He couldn't tell exactly where it hurt more - right where the pulsing was strongest or where the unpleasant pulses met his aching temples. 

Why the hell did he have such a headache? 

He still had his eyes closed, yet everything was spinning. It was hard for him to keep his balance, even though he knew he was just sitting on a chair. He could not make out whether the floor beneath him was really moving back and forth, or whether his perception was clouded by his aching head. What he did hear, however, was the thudding sound his body made along with the chair as they hit the dusty concrete floor altogether. Said same dust tingled unpleasantly in his nose as Travis inhaled it with his next breath. It hadn't been the first time in his life he'd hit his head on concrete, but it was certainly the most forceful. He passed out again. Lost consciousness. Before he even had a chance to look into the eyes of the person standing in front of him. Who was to blame for him finding himself in this miserable situation. 

The dark-haired man facing him did not make a fuss as he watched the policeman lying on the ground. A small pool of blood had already formed where Travis' head had hit the hard ground. 

The man twisted one corner of his mouth into a smile before walking up to him and kicking Travis' stomach with all his might. 

-

Laura paid no attention to the professor lecturing on basic biochemistry. Rather, she stared, stunned, at the dot on her cell phone display. He hadn't moved in two days. That was odd. Very strange. Many thoughts flashed through her mind meanwhile. Almost exclusively unpleasant ones. 

Why the hell wasn't he moving?

In the next moment, an impulse struck her. It surprised her, but she didn't resist it, as her body, as if by itself, began to gather her belongings, which were lying on the small table in front of her. Her laptop, the book and her notepad. The things were packed up so quickly that Laura's seatmate and new friend Vanessa didn't even notice her leaving until Laura had already almost left the lecture hall. The young blonde, who was already in the second semester of her veterinary studies, had a new hobby since a few weeks. 

Well, actually it was already months. But she had only really admitted it to herself a few weeks ago. She affectionately called it 'her little hobby'. Him, she called 'him' her new hobby. She knew how rotten and wrong it was, and she was sure that realization was the first step to recovery. After all, she didn't deny it anymore. At least not to herself anymore. God forbid she should tell anyone about it.

She was finally to the point where she could admit to herself that her behavior was no longer normal. That it was no longer healthy behavior. Not just a normal interest in a person. She wouldn't call herself a stalker, which was possibly just because she had never thought that thought through. Hadn't dared it until now. Her head resisted reflecting on her behavior in that way. 

Laura had been very good at reflecting, analyzing, and interpreting her own behavior all her life. It didn't take her long to realize why she was the way she was - why she acted the way she did. It just suited her to look at situations from a different angle. To look at emotional situations from a new perspective and make a professional, informed judgment about right and wrong. 

Perhaps that was exactly her problem. The moment she had admitted to herself that her behavior was pathological, she had stopped reflecting on her actions. And since then she had been in free fall. 

As if a wild animal had been accidentally set free. An animal that was perhaps harmless in its cage. But now, after it had freed itself, one no longer had any control over it. 

It was like trying to get the toothpaste back into the tube. It was impossible. The damage was done. That's why she hadn't even tried to fight it. 

Laura was a control freak. She knew that herself. She was in control of every aspect of her life. Her studies. Her finances. Her social life. Her health and her figure. She was a low-key, hardworking, affable young woman. She was good at her studies. She was popular with her friends. She found it easy to make friends and keep in touch. Everyone wondered why she had been single for so long after her breakup with Max. She was popular and even managed to talk to her parents regularly on the phone. She managed the money they gave her monthly as support with the utmost care. Laura was very disciplined in sports. It was easy for her to be consistent when it came to food. No chocolate, no alcohol, no fast food. And it was precisely for this reason that she allowed herself to lose control. She reined herself in every damn aspect of her life, which is why she let herself get away with this little sin. It was like a piece of chocolate that she consciously indulged in. Even though she knew it was wrong. But as long as it helped her keep control in all other areas of her life, it couldn't be too bad, could it? And after all, it wasn't hurting anyone. She probably was a stalker, yes. She was stalking Travis Hackett. And when she knew what he was doing and where he was, she felt a certain peace. Then she would look at her phone and see that he was carrying on with his daily routine as usual. Just like she was, too. 

She knew by now which days of the week he visited his parents. That he went fishing with his nephew once a month, or what times he went shopping. Travis Hackett's life was like clockwork, the regularity of which she had grown accustomed to over the past few months. And by now she had so much insight into his daily life that it would be a waste not to continue. Now she had already invested so much of her valuable time, now she couldn't just stop, right? 

And that's exactly why she knew it wasn't normal that the tracking device she had 'placed' in his police car had remained in the same location for almost 39 hours. Just like the location of his cell phone. This could only be attributed to two facts: Either he had been on to her, or the police car, along with his smartphone, had actually not moved for what felt like an eternity. 

Both possibilities put her in panic. In fear.  

Laura's obsession had started with something quite innocent. A Google alert. She just wanted to stay up to date. To learn how things were going with Travis after the FBI had taken care of the situation that had happened in North Kill in the summer of 2021. The summer they all nearly didn't survive.

The FBI had made it clear how they would talk about the summer in the future: As if it had never existed. The death of Chris Hackett: an accident. The death of Silas Vorez: not even officially announced. Covered up. Swept under the rug. 

That's it. As if nothing ever happened. But it did happen. Laura was very well held captive for two months, along with her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. By him. By Sheriff Travis Hackett. 

Her hatred grew into a strange kind of curiosity after a while. After weeks of thinking about him, and him becoming her silent companion in her thoughts. She finally googled him. Found that he continued to be sheriff. That he was carrying on as usual. Was that right? Was he carrying on as usual? Laura couldn't believe it. In fact, she had a hell of a time believing it. 

One Google Allert on 'Travis Hackett' turned into two: 'Travis Hackett' ; 'North Kill'.  Then 'Travis Hackett' ; 'North Kill' ; 'Hackett North Kill' ; 'Hackett's Quarry.'  Then suddenly there were seven. When the information from the web suddenly wasn't enough for her, she researched him. At first it was just interest in his person. After all, it was okay to want to know more about the person who held you captive, right? She wondered what kind of person he was. She found old newspaper accounts of sports competitions and found out what school he had attended. She called the secretary's office there and the friendly lady was even willing to send her a PDF of his year's graduation book. Of course, under some pretense she had made up. 

She researched his family. Inquired at genealogy websites. Created a kind of family tree. She found out what insurance company he was with and what doctor he went to. It's unbelievable that information like that was just out there on the web, if you knew where to look. 

She could still remember the day she stumbled across an old advertisement in which he had put a car up for sale. Included was a phone number and his private email address. At the time, she had no idea what a stroke of luck this coincidence would turn out to be. 

She figured out how to hack passwords. 'Figured out' in this case meant weeks of intensive research. She acquired basic programming skills. In a shady online forum, she found a program that could help crack passwords, and after almost two months, she had actually done it - she had access to his email account. 

The very fact that Travis obviously didn't believe in two-factor authentication was an unspoken invitation, wasn't it? 

Not only was she reading his emails, she was logging into his browser interface via his Google profile, which ultimately gave her access to his password manager. 

She remembered exactly how she had jumped up from her chair in front of her computer, beaming with joy and cheering, when she saw the password list displayed in front of her. Unencrypted. 

But, let's be serious now, anyone who used NorthKill2020! as a password and did so for almost every website had only themselves to blame,  right? 

Now she was on his social media profiles. Read his emails. And when she saw him using iOS, she bought a friend's old iPhone from her savings. She used it to log into his Apple ID, whose password she had from his password managers. She simply deleted the email about registering another device on his Apple ID from his inbox. After a quick sync, she had everything on her phone. His apps, his text messages - even his photos. The device did exactly what it was supposed to do: it synced all the data he uploaded to its cloud. She had a mirror image of his phone, and without him knowing.

At least that's what she believed. 

She could see where his phone was via the location app, but that didn't do her any good if he didn't have the device with him. And unfortunately, Sheriff Hackett had a habit of leaving his cell phone at home very often. Almost every time his schedule said 'Fishing with Caleb,' for example. 

Even worse - it made her furious. 

What he didn't leave at home, however, was his car. Hiding the tracking device there had been a piece of cake. She had driven all the way to North Kill some time ago to do just that. She had seen in his duty schedule that he had the day shift and had followed him unobtrusively for half the day before he had finally stopped at a coffee shop to get a cup of the black, delicious liquid.  After he disappeared into the store, Laura got out of her vehicle that she had parked a few feet from his. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, she had strolled over to his police cruser and opened the passenger door. In the next moment, she caught the scent of his aftershave as she opened the glove compartment and deposited an AirTag under the owner's manual. Who the hell read a car's owner's manual? It was the perfect hiding place. 

The action had taken her less than 30 seconds before she was back behind the steering wheel of her car, started the engine and drove away. 

Since then, she could see two blue dots on her phone, most of the time moving fairly close together across the map of North Kill - the location of his cell phone and the location of his police car. 

Those dots that had been in the same spot since the day before yesterday, but had not moved. 

Laura had put so much blood, sweat and lifetime into her new hobby. She wasn't going to be easily ditched with this. She wouldn't just give up. If he had disposed his cell phone along with the tracking device, then that wouldn't scare her off. After all, he hadn't changed the password to his email account yet. 

Still, her mind was racing - thinking about what could have happened while she was already in the process of steering her car onto the highway. Heading for the North Kill. 

She just had to drive there and check. Because that's what the location function was for: she just had to know where he was right now. She couldn't think of anything else.  

It took Laura a little over two hours to arrive in the small town. She drove straight to the location her phone showed her. It was a secluded road in the woods. A road similar to the one where Max and she had gone off the road back then. The police car was parked on the side of the road as Laura parked her car directly behind it. 

When she opened the driver's door of her small car, a fresh breeze of cool air came directly toward her. It was quite cool for late April, which is why Laura zipped up the sweatshirt jacket she was wearing. She walked slowly towards the vehicle until she stood next to the driver's door and directed her gaze into the interior of the vehicle. She found his weapon.  

She put her hand on the cold metal handle of the driver's door and was surprised when it opened without any difficulty. She sat down inside and automatically reached her hand to the ignition, where she found the patrol car's key. 

At that moment she knew something had happened. Why did he leave the key in the ignition?

She looked around the empty vehicle. In the center console was a half-full, by now ice-cold cup of coffee. Next to it was his cell phone. She took it and tapped the display, whereupon it lit up dimly. The remaining energy of the battery would only keep the small device alive for a short time, so Laura took it in order to charge it immediately in her car. 

After checking the entire interior, checking the empty trunk, and making sure the AirTag was in proper working order, she removed the car's key from the ignition. She locked the car and walked back to hers. There, she plugged his iPhone into the charger in her center console before unlocking the small device with the numbers 7-7-6-5, his birthdate. The already familiar view of his home screen opened up for her. She opened his Messages app and checked the latest text messages. At the top was Caleb, below that was his colleague Ryan, and below that was Bobby. The other chats were already several days old and therefore of no consequence. Since Laura had already read the messages on her phone and knew that this information would not help her, she closed the app again. She opened the only app she had not managed to register on her smartphone - his banking app. To open it, it asked for a pin code. On the best of luck, she typed in Travis' date of birth again, and the app loaded the interface of his bank account and credit card. 

She scrolled through the expenses and debits of the last few days, finding nothing of interest there either. Among them were a couple of debits from the local supermarket, a cash withdrawal of $80, and a few other minor expenses. He'd obviously bought something at the hardware store, and at the fishing store. 

Nothing unusual, that is. 

Laura frowned. 

"Where the hell are you, Travis?" she spoke softly, seeming to be talking more to herself. 

Her eyes darted again, through the windshield, to the police car sitting abandoned by the side of the road. Before she knew it, she had exited her vehicle and was walking toward the car again. Then she unlocked it again and got in. She started the ignition, whereupon the engine howled briefly before its sound faded into a low growl reminiscent of a cat's purr. 

The on-board computer display glowed brightly as he booted up. 

"Why did you drive here? What was here in the woods?" 

She tapped her way through the unfamiliar interface of the police system, which apparently could be used to pull up all the information on assigned calls and distress calls. Laura finally managed to pull up the list of recent assignments before tapping on the last emergency call. There was a brief description on file there. The male caller had apparently phoned through around 3 p.m. that he had been in a wildlife accident.

"That's why you drove here... But what happened next?" 

Laura's eyes fell on the dashcam mounted in the front of the windshield. It took her a few minutes before she managed to pull up the memory state of the camera recordings. She started the last recording, which was several hours long. The date told her that the day was correct. Using the time, she navigated within a few seconds to where Travis pulled up behind the parked pickup truck that stopped beside the road. Laura looked out the front window and could still clearly see the pickup's tire tracks in the sand. 

She saw Travis get out and walk over to the car. He chatted briefly with the person sitting in the car, but was out of sight. Until the moment Travis turned away from the driver's door to walk in front of the vehicle. At that moment, a bulky man got out of the vehicle. He was holding something in his hand that Laura couldn't quite make out at first glance. It wasn't until the man hit Travis hard in the back of the head with it and he went down that she recognized it - it was a crowbar. 

The man, whom Laura had so far only seen from behind, grabbed the policeman lying on the ground and dragged him back to his vehicle. Travis was apparently unconscious, because he didn't move as the guy opened the rear car door and heaved him into the car with effort. At that moment, the dude looked in their direction, or rather, in the direction of the police car. It was easy to see his face before he closed the door of the vehicle, got in himself and drove off with Travis in the back. 

Laura thought she couldn't believe her eyes. 

She tapped around on the screen again to see if any more information about the caller had been recorded via 911. Sure enough, the man had given a name when he placed the 911 call. 

Laura's whole body began to tingle with tension as she read the name.

"Jason Radcliffe." she whispered softly. The last name was very familiar to her. 

-

"W-w-who ar-e y-ou?", it was hard for Travis to speak because his head hurt so incredibly. He had just regained consciousness, which was why everything was spinning in his head. Still, he knew for a fact that he had never seen the guy sitting in front of him. 

The man was smiling at him. His scruffy grin sent a shiver down Travis' spine. 

"Think about it, Sheriff Hackett. You know me. You rotten son of a bitch." 

Travis tried to look at him - tried to focus his gaze. But his eyes rolled back and forth so uncontrollably that he could only see the man's face in focus for brief moments before his field of vision blurred. 

"You've seen me before. In court." the man helped Travis out. But the latter was in no mood for a guessing game with his captor. 

"Whe-re a-m I?" 

"SAY HER NAME!" the guy then yelled at Travis as he jumped up from his chair. The chair fell over - because of the strong jerk - backwards. Travis, on the other hand, didn't even flinch as the man, inches in front of him, jumped out of his skin. His head was just too far off track to be able to follow the sudden action. Let alone show reflexes. 

"I'm Anne Radcliffe's brother, motherfucker. Does that name tell you anything?" Judging by the tone of his voice, the question was tongue-in-cheek. Still, Travis didn't know what the guy was getting at. He took another good look at him. He tried really hard - tried to notice the outline of his face. The slightly crooked nose. The wide upper lip. The dark eyes. 

Travis went inside himself for a few seconds before saying "I-I h-a-ave no i-de-a, bud-"

He couldn't complete the sentence. Next, he tasted the unpleasant taste of blood in his mouth. Then he perceived a dull pain followed by an unpleasant burning sensation on his cheek. The same spot the guy had just hit with his fist. 

Travis had had the taste of blood in his mouth so many times. The first time as a child when his mother had hit him. Followed by many more times in his childhood and adolescence. Then in the six years after Harrum Scarrum. Countless times. And since then - since the curse was broken - in his dreams. 

Travis considered for a moment if perhaps he was dreaming. If he'd ever had a real, painful dream like this before. 

"You and your fucking hillbilly family killed my sister. The hiker who was killed along with her husband by you motherfuckers." 

The guy's lower lip quivered as he said this, and he watched Travis slowly begin to shake his head. 

"A-c-c-qu-it-te-d." 

The next punch went into Travis' stomach, causing him to gag. 

"BULLSHIT!" roared the now very upset Jason Radcliffe. "You guys killed her! I know it for a fact! And I don't give a shit if the court acquitted you bastards!" 

The next moment, Travis was sure he was dreaming. He saw, a few feet behind the wild-eyed man across from him, a door open. Through it came Laura Kearney. With her hair open, long and blonde, she looked like an angel. 

He smiled at the thought of the little girl, while his eyes slowly fell shut and he lost consciousness again. 

-

"Hands up." Laura pointed Travis' service weapon at Jason, who stood a good few feet in front of her. Beside him, Travis sat tied up in a chair. His torso, as well as his head, had fallen forward and he was not moving. Laura saw the blood running down his neck to his torso. 

Radcliffe didn't move at first, before Laura gave him a stern look to let him know he'd better follow her instruction. 

"Is that his gun?" he asked with a nod in her direction as he slowly raised his hands. "Would explain why he didn't have one on his person."

When Laura was sure the guy couldn't be dangerous to her, or to Travis, she turned her gaze to the helpless cop. He was bound to the chair he was sitting in, topless. His body was slumped over and the blood he had on his face and torso instantly frightened her. Her eyes fell on a small side table that stood a good three feet from Radcliffe. On it lay all sorts of tools and utensils. As Laura looked at them more closely, she felt sick. There were pliers, wrenches, and even a saw. Neatly and tidily lined up. It looked like a jailer's torture kit. Next to all the utensils, which apparently had not been used yet, was Travis' utility belt. 

"Handcuffs." said Laura, pointing to the item, then to a support post a few feet away. "And don't take anything else."

The guy swallowed before taking a few slow steps toward the side table. He lowered a hand very slowly, his gaze darting over the items on it for only a fraction of a second before fixing back on Laura. 

It had only been a brief moment, but Laura had understood what he was about to do even before he had gotten around to performing his action. 

Within a moment, he grabbed a wrench, took it out - he was about to throw it in her direction before -

Laura's field of vision blurred for a second and the next moment she was in the forest. Standing in front of Silas, who was sleeping quietly in his cage. An exhausted Travis stood beside her, pleading with her to finally shoot the creature that had plagued his family for years. To free him from the curse that had weighed on his shoulders for so long. 

She knew it didn't make sense, but she had thanked the universe in hindsight that she had been able to do him this favor. The man who had held her captive for two months. The one who had lied to her, drugged her, and imprisoned her. The one who had defended her from his family. The one who had spared her life twice in the Hackett mansion and then protected her in the car. Who had yelled at her to hide when the monster on the roof of the car had lashed out at her with its claws. Who had trusted her enough to put a shotgun in her hand. 

The moment she'd shot Silas for him had been the moment they'd both been even. For what he had done to her. For what she had done to him. And also for not shooting her when his father had told him to. For sparing her again afterwards, when he could have stabbed her with the shard of glass, while she had immortalized herself with a bite mark in the skin on his arm. 

That's why she had been so sure at that moment that pulling the trigger had been the right thing to do. 

Just as it had been at this moment. 

So she pulled the trigger. 

A loud bang echoed through the otherwise empty barn.

-

It was bright. Damn bright. The light burned unpleasantly in his sensitive eyes, which is why he squeezed them tight again the next second. The muscles in his face ached as he tensed them. Especially his right eye. His cheek. He moaned softly before bringing his hands in front of his face in response. 

I can move my hands, he noticed. 

"Travis?" 

It took him a moment to place the voice. 

"...Laura?"

He felt a touch on his arm, then a gentle caress across his forehead. "Keep your eyes closed. You have a severe concussion."

"Where am I?" 

She gently stroked his cheek. The tender sensation was balm to his battered skin. 

"In the hospital. It's all right. I'm with you."

"What-"

Then her fingers moved to his lips. She gently stroked them, whereupon he fell silent. He opened his eyes very slowly, then dropped his head to the side, so he could look at her. Her gaze was concerned. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Taking care of you."

He closed his eyes again and enjoyed the touch of her fingertips gently moving over his skin. 

"Why? I- I mean, how? How did you know-"

"I've got my eyes on you, Travis." Her voice sounded calm as she spoke the words. But still, in a strange way, they triggered unease in him. 

"Have you forgotten that we're a team, Travis? That we belong together? You and me?"

Travis didn't understand what she meant by that. It was too exhausting for him to think about it at that moment, too. He was only aware of how the mattress lowered a bit on its side as Laura sat down next to him on the bed. How warm her fingertips were as they moved over his lips again. How soft her lips were as she lowered them to his in a careful kiss. How pleasant the tender touch was to him and how a soft moan escaped him as he reflexively returned the kiss. How sweet her hair smelled as the soft blonde strands fell into his face as she carefully deepened the kiss. Her tongue gently stroked his lower lip.

He was confused. He didn't understand why Laura was kissing him. This was Laura, right? Why was she kissing him? Was it really Laura? Was he dreaming?

What he didn't notice was the soft jingle of keys in Laura's jacket pocket. His bunch of keys, to be exact. Because Laura had his house key copied during the time, he had been taken to the hospital by ambulance.  So that she would have access to his house in the future - to be able to take even better care of him, of course - she told herself, while she had butterflies in her stomach as she kissed him.

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[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[aphel1on]

AuDHD is so funny sometimes like what do you mean my hyperfixations/special interests will last for years on end or possibly forever but they will cycle out every month or two with absolutely no transitional period or warning. like i will think about the same topic every day obsessively for 46 days in a row and on the 47th day with no visible cause adhd brain goes "ok! bored of that now" and autism brain goes "dw i got something queued up for ya" and i blast into full blown obsession on some other topic whose mental file folders haven't opened in 9 months. brain's out here treating hyperfixations like a crop rotation. once the dopamine runs out it cycles in another one but once something's in the rotation it never ever leaves. last summer we brought in one from when i was 11. it's so funny to me but frustrating too bc like. i cannot stress enough my inability to predict or control this. or how completely abrupt and random it can be

[naiad-r]

Dr. Talis and his husband, about to receive yet another complaint about their indecent behavior.

[heckblade]

can’t stop watching this POV of the lou/murph wrestling match from gauntlet at the garden feat. brennan’s reaction

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Digital drawings of the cast of Mouthwashing as anthropomorphic cats. Curly is a very fluffy orange tabby, Jimmy is a short-haired dark tabby, Anya is a blue Oriental Longhair, Daisuke is an Abyssinian, and Swansea is fluffy gray and white cat with a bobbed tail. Curly and Swansea have spats in place of their shoes, Anya still has her sandals, and Jimmy and Daisuke are bare-pawed. The first image is a full lineup and the following two are closeups of Curly and Jimmy and Anya, Daisuke, and Swansea respectively. end ID]

~~~~

gang's all here. we got purrly. aNYA. daisukitty. clawnsea. and jim.

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: A drawing of all the Hargreeves plus Lila riding in Diego's van from season 4, wearing the outfits they usually wear in the promo posters. Diego is driving and using a fist to mime singing into a mic. Five is reading a newspaper in the passenger seat. In the row behind them, Klaus is dangling his arms out the window, Lila is throwing snacks at Five's head, and Allison is sharing headphones with Viktor who is sitting behind her. Ben is in the same row as Viktor and is staring straight ahead looking shaken. Luther is taking a nap in the trunk. End ID.]

Family Road Trip!!

[gingermaple]

teamwork

[maddytherealbaddy]

i've just gotten into miraculous and saw everyone doing this challenge by @buggachat on here so i wanted to join in!! i have no idea how to do digital art (and i can't colour) so i just traced over a picture of my sketch lmao

they're on the same canvas because i'm lazy

anyway these are the cuties of all time <3

[codename-adler]

to be honest. haikyuu is the only media that’s allowed to merrily drag me back by my hair anytime. merry christmas to me.

[hedwig221b]

sterek twilight au

[canisalbus]

Alright.

.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

wizard enjoyer!!! Have you ever played tactical breach wizards? it’s a turn-based video game about wizards going on heists; to me it’s a little bit like if all the pieces on a chess board had psychological issues and their own special gun. asking because i think your safety wizard would absolutely loathe steve the traffic warlock (who sucks)

I don't know what's funnier to me; the implication of him being a warlock, or the fact his name is Steve.

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[inkwitch111-fanart]

Outfits Lea would wear; crop top edition.

Feat. Isa

I will not be taking criticism, thank you.

[arthursfuckinghat]

You know, whenever I see the discussions around Jack Marston possibly getting drafted in world war one, I can't help but physically ache at the thought of it.

Jack Marston, born into a gang that honoured freedom above everything, forced to sacrifice everything he has left for war.

Jack Marston, a boy who read about knights and soldiers, now forced to become one in another fight he never asked for.

Jack Marston, raised to be away from a life of violence, but now the world has found a way to drag him back in.

No matter what happens, Jack would have to face a really tragic dilemma. Does he go to war and sacrifice the legacy of freedom he was raised with? The life his family died for? Or refuse and be labeled a criminal, putting his parents to shame and repeating the same cycle his father went through?

It just tragically mirrors the struggle he’s always had - trying to find his own identity outside the legacy of John Marston, and the violence that came with it. But he's being pulled back in, no matter what he chooses.

He was never made for the violence that shaped his parents' life.