#this is about stalking

[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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[inbabylontheywept]

by tradition, the first day of the camp was spent pranking the group next to us. our prank was ziptying the zippers on their sleeping bags together. we figured one of them would sleep with a knife, because we all slept with knives, because we were dangerous maniacs and half the danger of a dangerous maniac is that they tend to think that they are Actually Normal. so. obviously that didn't pan out, and instead they got stuck in their sleeping bags for like half an hour and because their scoutmaster slept in their car and couldn't hear them yelling, they actually only got out when one of them went full caged animal and chewed through the plastic. which meant they had time to make it to the axe throwing station, but they did miss breakfast.

the scale of our victory was impossible to understate. it was an epic prank. unrivaled. the best in years. we knew they were going to retaliate, and we both feared and craved it. maybe i'm still a maniac, but that feels like a common thing, right? do well adjusted people that are not maniacs crave Judgement?

(serious answers only please, from people who would never spoon a knife.)

anyway, the next day we got back to our camp, and the neighors had skipped dinner to just come back and fill all our tents with pinecones. which was like, a decent prank, i guess, but it probably took them an hour to fill all the tents up, and it took us like 15 minutes to tip the tents out, and as a return volley to the ziptie prank it was incredibly underwhelming. we felt a little cheated.

so our scouting group held a council, and we agreed, unanimously, that our prank was 100% better and theirs sucked and that there would be no escalating tensions because we were the clear victors. they'd had their chance to retaliate, and they failed, and so the war was over. that was it.

we agreed on this. we swore. but madness is a relative thing, and in our group of maniacs, we still had J. i have many, many J stories. too many. i biked up to school with him from 4th grade to 8th, and i saw him get hit by cars thrice. he'd just swerve into the road sometimes. one time on a rainy day in 4th grade, a car splashed me, and before i could even consider my response J yelled I GOT THIS and then he blitzed off after the car. i didn't see him the rest of the day. i was so anxious i barely slept that night. i saw him the next morning and he told me that he'd chased the car until it got to a gated community and then he'd climbed over the fence and looked in peoples garages until he found the one with the car, and then he'd ripped the hood ornament off and broke their window. then he gave me a hood ornament to a different brand of car from the one that splashed me and i didnt tell him because i didnt want him missing more school. i want you to mentally adjust your mental model of the things a 9 year old is capable of doing to include chasing a car for five miles, hopping a fence, breaking into a garage, and vandalizing a randos car.

and that's just the tip of my J stories iceberg.

the point of all this is just to say that J was so crazy that he made us knife spooners look like accountanting enthusiasts.

so we agreed the war was done, and we shook on it, and then J, in the name of friendship, in the name of honor, in the name of avenging our pinecone filled tents, snuck over to their camp that evening and fornicated with a watermelon that they'd been saving in their cooler.

i want to emphasize, again, that this was not the consensus of the group. that is not a prank. like i know it seems like we dont know what pranks are because of the whole ziptie thing, but even we knew that fucking someones food is not a prank, it is a crime, and a sin, the kind of weapon that had only been ethically used once in history by Horus in his battle against Set and none of us dumb assholes had owl heads.

so.

the next day went pretty well. we threw some more axes again, which is a valuable and important skill for children to learn i guess, and we learned how to tie knots, which is a skill that turned out to be far sexier than i ever expected, and i learned how to light fires with a magnifying glass, which was great. i'm looking back at this, and i am actually just now beginning to realize that the clear and obvious point of scouting is turning child sociopaths into apex predators.

and then the day ended, and we went back to our camps, except for our leaders, who had a sort of Scout Leader Meeting they were going to have for a few hours at least. it was built into the camp, that day was supposed to be our day to chill as a group, and make peach cobbler, and just be buddies.

except, as it turned out, our neighboring group's alternative to making peach cobbler was eating their watermelon. so at some point they opened their watermelon, and woo boy. oh man. you think catholics hated seedless watermelons? you should see how much mormons hate seeded ones.

so we were chilling by the fire, and then we heard screaming from the camp over, but we didn't pay much mind to that because there are many reasonable explanations for a group of 10ish children to scream simulanteoulsy, such as wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then the screaming got closer, which did not bother us because there were many reasons for a group 10ish children to scream and run towards us, for example, wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then we noticed they had large sticks on them, which we figured were perhaps being used to drive away the wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then they arrived and they started beating the shit out of us, abundantly, in arizona.

so we ran into the woods.

now, at this point, we had no idea what was up. we knew that the camp next to us was out for blood, which was crazy, because we'd actually locked them in fartproof bags for 30 minutes and they'd barely done anything back, and were trying to figure out what could possibly have happened that could drive them to Terrible Violence when we realized that J was cackling like a witch that had learned how to order children off of ebay.

so we politely asked J what the hell he had done, and he politely explained that had "done" their watermelon, and we politely beat him with large sticks because life is nothing but endless cycles of violence.

we were still being chased by the other camp btw. so it was them, chasing us, chasing J, and then they got tired and went back to their camp, and we chased J a little longer because we were mad we'd all been walloped with sticks, and J did not care because he was a supernatural entity whose only weaknesses were Needles and Fire, and then we got tired and went back and J kept running, and we just kind of figured he would come back eventually.

he did not.

we went back to our tents, and we waited, and J did not come back. we stayed up all night, peering into the forest, worrying. our leader came back, and we did our best to hide our battlewounds, and he either genuinely did not notice or simply accepted this as part of Boyhood. then he went to bed, and we waited, and waited, and waited. And Waited. and did not sleep.

eventually, we convened again, and we agreed that if J was not back by after breakfast, we would have to tell the scoutleader about what exactly had transpired. and we really did not want to do that, because it would have meant that everyone would have gotten in a very large amount of trouble.

morning came around, and J still was not back. we went to breakfast, and we ate very, very slowly. we were afraid the other camp was going to continue their war with us, but they actually looked fairly frightened. one of them actually came to us and asked for a truce, and we agreed because we truly felt bad for them. like, yes, they did beat us with sticks, but J fucked their watermelon. we werent complicit in the watermelonfuckening but they didnt know that, and it was definitely the kind of crime that left one outside the bounds of the social contract.

and then when we could eat no more bits, when breakfast was almost done, right when i was getting pushed to go and tell the scoutleader that we needed to find J, he arrived. he was sleep deprived, and noticeably scraped and bloody, and tied to his belt was a blood squirrel tail.

and i asked him, J, where did you get that? and he said, don't worry man, it was already dead, which did not answer by question and gave me several more.

the camp ended that day, and the other groups avoided us like the plague, and it was not until some weeks later that we were able to piece together what happened.

J, in his sojourn through the forest, managed to find (or, possibly, make) a dead squirrel. he then cut off the tail to keep on his belt, because he was a weird little freak like that. he also took the dead squirrel, and he skinned it, then he tied it to a little crucifix made of wood, and he left it in the other scouting group's camp. which is why they were so scared of us.

it was such an unhinged thing to do it actually sobered us up for a while. scouting became a scary thing for us. we'd found something dark and primal there, in the place where no adult could see, and our appreciation of J as a wild ride kind of changed into seeing him as something truly dangerous. we had a sense wherever he went, something terrible would follow, and the only way to escape it was to not be there when it arrived. and so piece by piece, the scout group dissolved. it wasnt until he moved out of that ward that the rest of us started daring to go back to scouts.

and for the final epilogue of the tale:

i have a little brother who was friends with a younger cousin of J's, and the two would go to parties together in highschool. and sometimes J, who was in his early 20's at that point, would show up at the parties, and it was unsettling in such a way that it just became a known risk at parties with the cousin. and at one party, they were playing truth or dare, and J wasn't even in the room, but someone asked him the Truth of how he always knew how to find the cousin, and J said the cousin's mom had mentioned she was worried about him and the parties so he'd put a tracker in his car. and when he saw that the cousin was out of the house on weekends, he'd made a visit by, just to make sure he was safe.

then he left. and every single person at that party went over that poor kid's car. they searched the wheel-wells, checked underneath it, the works, until they found the tracker. then because they were clever, they didnt break it, or throw it away, or anything that would've given away what they'd done. they just gave the tracker to the cousin, who put it in his glovebox. and on schooldays, he'd take it with him, so J could see him in the parking lot. and on weekends, he could leave it in the garage, so he could go to parties with out Hell coming with him. because everyone that met J - every single person - knew that the only way to be safe from him was to be far, far away.

[whimsyvixen]

Ask me what type of romantic dreams I have at night.

The man in my dreams:

(He wasn't happy I escaped from my gilded cage)

[marc--chilton]

house, suddenly off-subject from whatever they were talking about before: you're wearing a new tie. you never introduce new ties at the end of the week, only the beginning

wilson, who is about to get read to filth and knows it:

[littlefankingdom]

Bruce Wayne is canonically a very handsome man (he is called a "pretty boy" and he is in his 40s, for fuck's sake), and he is pretty famous as a rich philanthropist who doesn't want to leave his awful cursed crime infested city. So, there must be a ton of people thirsting over him on the internet. Fancams, edits, fanfics and imagines ("kidnapped with Bruce Wayne 😍 by a Gotham rogue"), the whole charade!

And anytime one of the batkids stumbles on a thirst post, they have the most dramatic disgusted reaction, loudly gagging, before sending the link to the batkids chat, because if they must suffer, then they should all suffer. Clicking on a link in this groupchat is like playing russian roulette, and getting rickrolled is a good ending.

[mikami1992]

Danny the Villain by stress… with a twist

We all know that for a supervillain to exist… we first need a hero to face him, because let's admit that's what usually happens…

But a Villain creating an Archrival?, one who only dedicates himself to hunting him and only him?… no, that's not normal, it takes many reasons for someone to decide to play this deadly dance… the good thing is that all the ghosts of the Joker's victims are a great source of reasons…

So, when Danny decides to create another identity to expel all the stress and anger from his life… he decides to create a villain who only dedicates himself to hunting the Joker, and with all the ghost victims watching the criminal clown, foiling his deadly traps and making him (Joker) the victim of his own schemes, he has become a source of fun for the halfa…

…. and if at the same time he ends up flirting with that returnee with the red helmet, well that's a bonus that he won't refuse.

[deadsetobsessions]

Writing Prompt… kind of? Definitely write more if you want but this was a cute little “fic starter” that popped into my mind.

——

Danny didn’t know the first thing about art. This is an important fact.

“Sam, why am I even here?”

“Suck it up, Casper.”

“The show or the school?” Danny privately thought Casper the Friendly Ghost was the best thing to have come around. It did wonders for improving relations between Amity and inhabitants of the Zone.

Sam smacked him on the arm. “You know which one. You’re just here to be the normie judge. You don’t need to know anything about art.”

“Everyone here is like an art acolyte or something, Sam! I’m an engineering newb in a room full of people with art PhDs!”

Sam rolled her eyes and checked her manicures. “If you call Fenton Works newb level, then the rest of the world would be Neanderthals. Seriously that’s why you’re here. The art’s gotta appeal to the untrained eyes too. I trust your judgement.”

Danny gave in. “Thanks, Sam. That means a lot.” He followed after Sam but after a moment, he whined, “But couldn’t you have taken Tucker? Dude’s got four untrained eyes!”

“He’s busy with his internship. And you were already in Gotham.”

They reach the exhibition, Sam and Danny being welcomed in. Sam’s parents, while not the richest of the rich, were known art connoisseurs and respected people in the communities that dotted around the world. On top of being the descendants of the man that invented the deli toothpick cellophane twirling device, that is. Sam was standing in their place today- begrudgingly- because they’d promised to pay for an entire month of Gotham architecture tours and a trip to Japan. After all, Sam had much of their knowledge too. If anyone could say anything about the Masons, it was that they were passionate in their chosen field. L

“The contestants are in the room next door. The judge panel is beginning.” The person at the door informed them. He gave them a slip of paper and a pen to mark their choices in each field. Danny breathed a sigh of relief and began wandering around.

After he wandered between the oil paintings- “oo, this one. Reason why… the vibes are nostalgic. I like it.”- and the various depictions of a specific ship, Danny was pulled to a stop by his core reaching out. He looked up and what he saw took his breath away.

It was just a photo.

But it felt like he was there, on that rooftop, crouched among the shadows and watching the early rays of muffled light hit the tops of his city. His core thrummed. It felt like protection. It felt like he was being fulfilled, like Danny was once more becoming Phantom and that he was watching over this city he’s beginning to understand.

Danny, almost fevered, scribbled down the name [A Robin’s Nest- by Tim Drake] as his number one choice to win the contest over all. And, at least, to win the first in the photography division.

——

“Oh, Ancients, are you okay?”

Danny had wandered around in the interim as the votes were tallied. He hadn’t been paying attention when he smacked into a little kid that could have been his little brother.

“Uhm. I’m good.”

Danny helped the kid up. “I’m Danny. I’m sorry I smacked into you. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Yeah. I’m Timothy Drake. I’m good.”

Danny’s smile widened in shock. “Like the photographer? Oh, wow! I really loved that photo! It was amazing! It felt like I was up there with the vigilantes!”

As he spoke, Danny glanced around for the kid’s designated adults. Hm. That’s odd. Everyone and their parental figure was accounted for.

“Oh.” Timothy flushed. “Thanks! I hoped the judges liked it too.”

Danny smiled, a small secretive thing. “Oh, I’m sure they will. Will you tell me more about your photography?”

“Oh, if you want!”

——

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[cowardlykrow]

“Not my circus, not my monkeys”… Except those are his monkeys and they are the circus

[rynnthefangirl]

Fandom: omg Ford was so selfish to invite Stan to Gravity Falls just to take the journal and go far away. He only cares about himself and doesn’t care about Stan at all.

Literally Ford’s mental state in that scene:

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: jay x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, mentions of stalking, manipulation, and crying.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

everyone talks about jay being a green flag, but imagine him being complete opposite of that. him being your best friend and acting as if he wants the best for you, which he does, and he considers himself to be the best for you. manipulation? sweet talking? taking care of you? he does it all so naturally.

going on a date? he’s gonna follow you, he’s gonna stalk you with no shame whatsoever, making sure the fucker who’s going out with you doesn’t even get to touch you, cause you simply belong to jay. the second you leave to go to the washroom, jay’s gonna threaten the guy to the point he leaves and texts you a pathetic ‘sorry’, which breaks your heart because why does every guy you try to go out with end up doing this to you?

but jay is gonna be here to help you with that, he’s always there for you, he’s the one who’s right for you. he’s the one who’s kissing your tears away, he’s calling you beautiful, and you’re letting him kiss you softly, so gently, because he takes care of you and you trust him. you don’t know how much he has manipulated you all this while, you just see jay as an angel who’s willing to do anything for you.

so you cry, kissing him harder, asking him to take all the pain away, asking him to prove it that he finds you pretty. and soon, you’re exactly where jay wants you to be—on his lap as he fingers your pretty little cunt, playing with your clit aimlessly to the point you’re shaking and begging for more, he whispers how pretty you look for him, how you belong to him as he pushes you down on the bed, pumping his cock a few times before thrusting into your overstimulated cunt, promising that he’ll always take care of you with a smirk on his face as you squirt all over his length.

“say you’re mine, princess,” he’d whisper, not stopping even when you’re crying and shaking, your mind blanking out with how good it felt, your eyes closing and hands gripping on to his arms, “y—yours,” you’d manage to let out somehow as he tastes you, gathering the cum on his fingers and swirling his tongue around it, calling you his good girl, and enjoying the fact that you belong to him.

because that’s all he’s ever wanted.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[chihirolovebot]

on a real note that bit near the end of the video was genuinely haunting. hearing somerton talk about how gay writers are erased from history was one thing (with all the irony being that he stepped on the backs of numerous underpaid, underprivileged and uncredited queer writers to build his youtube channel) but when h revealed it wasn't even somerton's quote in the first place? the worst, most crushing sort of irony. how do you lament about the erasure of gay people and gay writers in history... whilst erasing a gay writer and taking his words as your own?

[spideryoink]

My drug of choice? Any of the bats/birds saying “help” at a normal volume and their designated super is suddenly there

Mmmmmm

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[lobotomist-at-claires]

my mom would do wonders on phannie tumblr. upon seeing sister daniel for the first time last night she just went "so dan's only here to be phil's arm candy isn't he"

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Jazz makes a deal with Desiree after finding her brother in their parent’s basement. And it’s not a pretty sight.

Her deal: Desiree gets a slightly longer leash (in a matter of speaking) as long as Danny and Jazz are safe. (Or something like that. Point is, she made a deal)

I wish this never happened and that Danny and I were safe somewhere else!

There’s a snap of fingers, a bright flash, then she’s outside in an unfamiliar city with sirens blaring and people wailing as a scarecrow runs by with some sort of gas, chased by someone dressed like Vlad adjacent except all black with a weird looking bat symbol on his chest.

Not normal, but also not the weirdest thing she’s seen.

But there’s no sign of Danny.

Desiree looks at Jazz and smiles bitterly, “I never said you’d be safe together.” And disappears.

Meanwhile, Danny wakes up screaming in an alley until he realizes he is not in pain and somehow has no wounds from their parents. His screams attract the attention of a man walking by, who comes to investigate, Danny decides to go invisible right in front of him which was dumb but he was injured just a couple seconds ago so cut him some slack. It really should have freaked the guy out, but he just has an astonished look on his face before also turning invisible.

Or: Jazz is sent to Gotham and Danny is sent to Coast City. Jazz becomes an unwilling part of scarecrow’s scheme (could be any villain) and is saved by a bat (any bat, although I prefer Red Hood or Robin) and Danny accidentally showed Martian Manhunter his powers.

Could work with Superman too in Metropolis. He could pick up a dumpster and throw it at Clark and Clark would calmly catch it while Danny is babbling/apologizing for getting scared and throwing something that could have killed the man, then slowly everything clicks and he disappears, leaving Clark Kent to investigate.

(Also background: Danny has just been told he will be the future Ghost King in this and Jazz was told by Clockwork that she would have a difficult decision and a difficult future in store but that it will be good for them and for the realms. Jazz doesn’t believe in fortune tellers, especially vague ones and says so to Clockwork’s face which cracks a smile. I’d personally write it as a Hardcover ship, but honestly if anyone wants to yoink this and do something else with it, I’d be okay with that too!)