#and she had the AUDACITY to say that?????

[waterbottlegrey-blog]

The thing is. The thing is. It really is just a cat, though. It may be an immortal cat. Or a magical talking cat.

But you'll be damned if you'll involve yourself in whatever nonsense made Grandmother Veaselburbley take all those visits to their Majesties, and looking more annoyed and resigned than you saw her arranging the seating order for Christmas Dinner- she always took the cat with her.

And so, you order your maid to accompany you when you are possible to encounter the cat. You make up some nonsense about a bad dream and feign hysterics.

And it works! The cat tries to seek you out several times. Jump on your lap, and so forth. Unsuccessfully.

The servants, by now aware of your caprice, are always with you. Gently picking the cat up and carrying it away.

And then the invites start. Every member of your family in turn is summoned to the Palace. You do not bother to wait yours.

A sudden fit of fragile nerves - you trust Dr Markham made something convincing up, you certainly paid him enough - and you're on your way to Swiss, to recover in fine mountain air.

A summons come for you, in your lovely vacation. You pretend a fit of consumption. And then a broken leg. And then exhaustion. The Swiss doctors are really much more expensive for these things.

It goes on for a year, or near as.

Then the summons stop, because the entire damn country goes to hell. There are upraisings, their Majesties are dead, and there is a confusing period where every member of your family is quite possibly destitute - but thankfully, someone had offshored the family fortune at some point, and you watch, vaguely guilty, as the fires of revolution burn, and burn out.

Order restores itself, and a year and a half after this nonsense started, you are sitting on a terrace, sipping hot chocolate, wondering if you should accept the proposal of a very charming Belgian royal - Duke? Well. Certainly charming.

An then out of nowhere, a man in a sleek black suit sits opposite to you.

You freeze at the audacity, and the incompetence of the staff - he does not even wear a hat! Nor gloves!

"I beg your pardon-"

He grins at you. The words die as panic closes your throat. His hair is white, and his eyes are blue, and his teeth are -

He pushes something across the table.

A gold embossomed leather band. It is the collar. The damn cat has found you. You stare at the mane in horror.

He blinks his eyes slowly at you.

"Thanks," he says. The he gets up.

And leaves.

You have no idea what has happened.

But you're damned glad you never let the cat be alone with you.

Your grandparent passes and your parents inherit the palatial estate as well as the care for its cat. After going through several family records you realize the cat has been inherited throughout the generations. You try telling others but they forget. Now it keeps trying to be alone with you.

[pandapetals]

Period Cramps

You find Rogue, Jean and Storm complaining that men don't get period cramps.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: Hehehe i saw a art (from@pequena_padawan on tiktok) of scott being projected with period cramps so i wrote this.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

“I swear, men just don’t get it,” Rogue complained, stretching out on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

You walked into the living room with a raised brow, catching the exasperated look on her face. “Men don’t get what?” you asked, setting your mug down and joining them.

Jean glanced up from where she sat, an amused smirk playing on her lips. “Period cramps,” she replied. “Rogue was just telling us how Remy thought a heating pad would magically make everything better—like that’s all it takes.”

Ororo shook her head with a chuckle. “Oh, that’s nothing. I once had Kurt ask me if periods actually hurt, or if women just liked to be dramatic about it.” She raised an eyebrow, and all of you groaned.

“Tell me about it,” you muttered, flopping down on the couch beside Rogue. “One time, Logan had the audacity to say, ‘It can’t be that bad, right?’ I’ve never seen a man regret his words so fast.”

Rogue laughed, nudging you. “Logan? Mr. Tough Guy said that?” She grinned, shaking her head. “I thought he’d be more careful with that mouth of his around you.”

“Trust me, even Logan has his clueless moments,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Sometimes I think men are just wired to be oblivious about this stuff.”

Right on cue, Logan and Scott walked into the room, their arms full of bags from a grocery run. They exchanged glances, clearly sensing the united front of irritation in the room, but Logan couldn’t help himself.

“What’s with the looks?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, just discussing period cramps and how none of you guys get it,” Jean replied sweetly, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Scott scoffed, setting the bags on the counter. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. It’s just a little cramp, right?” he said, shooting a clueless grin at Logan, who smirked in agreement.

Jean and Ororo exchanged a glance, and before you knew it, Jean was subtly pressing her fingers to her temple, her eyes narrowing with a mischievous focus.

Suddenly, Logan and Scott’s faces twisted in unison. Logan's smirk vanished as his brows knitted together in confusion, then pain. Scott doubled over slightly, clutching his stomach as his face went pale.

“What the hell—?” Logan growled, his voice strained. His hand went to his lower abdomen, his eyes widening in bewilderment. “What… what is this?”

Jean crossed her arms, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “That, gentlemen, is what a ‘little cramp’ feels like,” she said, barely holding back her laughter.

Scott’s eyes shot up to her, panicked. “Are… are you doing this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jean replied, giving a little shrug. “Thought you two could use a little empathy lesson.”

Just then, Xavier wheeled in, his eyebrow raised as he took in the scene. “What’s all this commotion?” he asked, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he surveyed Logan and Scott, both clutching their stomachs and grimacing.

“Oh, Professor,” Ororo said with a grin. “The boys were just getting a taste of period cramps. Jean thought they needed some perspective.”

Xavier’s lips quirked up into a subtle smile. “Well, it does seem they could use a little… enlightenment,” he mused, pressing his fingers to his temple as well. You felt a slight ripple in the air, and then, judging by the way Logan practically doubled over, the cramps intensified.

“God— damn , Charles!” Logan barked out, his face twisted in agony as he shot Xavier a betrayed look. “Are you both in on this?”

Xavier raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Perhaps next time, you’ll think twice before dismissing someone else’s pain.” His tone was mild, but his amusement was unmistakable.

Scott looked like he was about to cry, clutching his side as he turned to Jean. “Alright, alright—I get it! I get it! Just… please, make it stop.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Logan threw you an almost pleading look, his tough-guy façade thoroughly shattered. He was sweating, his hand clutching his abdomen like he was in a wrestling match with his own body.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad, right?” you teased, grinning up at him.

Logan’s glare softened just a bit, though he let out a strangled grunt. “I’m… I’m sorry, okay?” he managed to grit out. “I’ll never say another word about period cramps again. Just—tell them to stop.”

You exchanged a look with Jean, who finally lifted her finger from her temple releasing her telepathic grip. Logan and Scott straightened up slowly, breathing hard as the ghost of the cramps faded.

Logan glared at you, though there was a hint of reluctant admiration in his gaze. “You’re ruthless, you know that?” he muttered, reaching out to steady himself against the couch.

You leaned up, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Now you understand. And next time, maybe you’ll keep your commentary to yourself.”

Logan shook his head, rubbing his abdomen. “Remind me never to cross you and Jean,” he muttered, glancing over at Scott, who looked equally traumatized.

Ororo let out a laugh, clapping her hands. “Lesson learned, then. Welcome to our world, boys.”

Logan shot you one last look, half-grumbling, half-amused. “I still think you’re all insane,” he mumbled, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You leaned against his arm, smirking. “Just remember that next time you think about underestimating us.”

[szqnxi]

Your number 1 fan (Part 3)

Katsuki Bakugo x reader

<<previous

It's Wednesday, and here you are, currently getting dolled up in the makeup room for your upcoming interview with the renowned Tv personality, Uwabami.

Your makeup artist withdraws the make-up brush from your face, offering you a warm smile, gesturing for you to look at your reflection in the mirror in front of you.

"Do you like it?" she inquired, gently moving your hair away from your face, allowing you to admire your reflection in the mirror.

"I do! You definitely need do this look for my upcoming tour" you exclaimed, utterly captivated by your reflection in the mirror. The make up artistry - the perfect eyebrows, the blush - perfect.

You swear you have never felt the prettiest in your entire life.

Right on time, your manager entered the room, looking visibly exhausted, with prominent dark bags under his eyes visible even from a mile away. He looked like he hadn't gotten a decent sleep in days.

"You look like shit"

"I'm aware" Shawn dismissibly replied, making his way towards the empty chair next to yours, collapsing into it with a heavy sigh before proceeding to open his tablet, resuming his work.

You picked up the untouched takeaway coffee on the vanity, and offered it to him. "Here. I think you need this more than me" you said.

He simply nodded and took a sip of the coffee. Time passed by, and before long, one of the production crew members called out to you, signaling that the interview was about to begin.

You patiently waited backstage, engaging in lighthearted conversations with a member of the production crew, passing time until the show started.

As the lights dimmed and the director shouted "action", Uwabami introduced herself, leading into the scripted lines, and as the cue was given, you confidently strode onto the set, ready to take your place on camera.

Talking with Uwabami has been nothing but pleasant. There was a natural, effortless chemistry between you both, as though you were just old friends catching up. There was no pressure or forced interactions, unlike other TV interviews you had experienced. It felt natural and comfortable.

You couldn't help but recall a particularly unpleasant interview where a famous TV host had the audacity to ask you an incredibly insensitive question, forcing you to put on a strained smile and sit there silently, as if he hadn't asked you the most offending question in your life.

"So, for my final question" your thoughts snapped back to reality, focusing on the host in front of you, who's wearing a grin on her face.

"When you were composing the song "Juno", did you perhaps have someone or anyone in mind while writing it?" she asked.

"Ooh, I like that one" you chuckled "I did" you grinned, mirroring hers "though I'll keep his identity a secret" you added with a cheeky giggle.

"What about a clue?"

"Hmm...let me see... Let's just say he's a pro hero"

"Ooh, but there are lots of pro heroes out there!" she laughed, turning towards the camera as though addressing the audience "How about we let them all guess?" She winked at the camera before continuing with the closing lines, bidding farewell to both the viewers and you, signaling the end of the set.

You stayed for a little while, engaging in a lighthearted conversation with Uwabami and other production staff, including the director, before retreating backstage to your make up room. There, both of Kim and Shawn were ready to leave, all packed up and set to go.

"So, who's driving? I don't see Mr. Smith anywhere" you questioned as the three of you reached the parking lot, noticing his absence. It was unusual for him not to accompany your makeup artist in the backstage while waiting for you to finish your shoot, especially as they typically engaged in their casual chatter while drinking take out coffee together.

"I'll be driving. Mr. Smith's daughter was in an accident, so I dismissed him for the day and gave him a whole week's paid leave" Shawn stated as he held open the car door for you.

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow before getting in.

"What?" He asked, looking at you as you make yourself comfortable at the front passenger seat.

"Because I'm currently in a car with a sleep-deprived driver... I just want to get home in one piece" you teased , causing him to groan in surrender before starting the car.

During the ride, you talked about your forthcoming tour with your manager, while Kim informed you that she will be sleeping for the time being.

Thanks to him, all the necessary arrangements had been made, leaving only the security to be handled. While the venue had already provided security, the HPSC requirement was for at least one or two pro heroes to serve as additional guards for enhanced safety.

"I'm just waiting for them to call back and confirm. And don't worry, I specifically asked for him" he said, his gaze fixed on the road.

Shawn's phone rang. He swiftly pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to you, implying that you should answer the call as he was driving. You looked at the screen and it was as if the situation had called for it, the caller ID displayed the hero agency.

"Hello, this is Y/n speaking. My manager passed me the phone since he cannot answer the call at the moment. I presume this is the Hero Agency hired for the upcoming tour, correct?" you asked, awaiting a response from the other end of the line.

Speaking of the devil

You were only met with a long silence from the other line.

"Hello?" you repeated, only to be met with another silence followed by a brief hitch in the callers breathing before they suddenly ended the call.

What the hell?

Main Masterlist

Number 1 fan Masterlist

Note: Guess who answered the phone 🤭

Taglist: @v3n7s @yjploum @pikachuzhc @sirenitym @ghostswhoretbh @d1orhaz3 @sachikomwahxx

[do-you-have-a-flag]

text of the above screenshots:

Some further clarification about things people were asking in the comments.

Tina spoke fluent English without an accent. She's either native or has been speaking it since very young.

We'd also spoken early that morning when she arrived, over the phone (woke me up where I was sleeping upstairs, but whatever, I'd rather too much communication than too little), because she wanted to clarify about the squash. She specifically acknowledged the concept of squash, and asked if it was near the kale she was seeing. I said that sounded right, and that it should be labeled. She said okay. I reminded her that if she couldn't find it, to ask my roommate for help.

The rats were on the top shelf of our freezer-top fridge so that you'd have to be leaning down to even see it, and no kale would be in its vicinity. Three people live in this house, so it's always full. Lots of options if you're gonna go rogue.

She didn't know I had snakes, unless she'd seen them in their bins in the living room, which is possible (it looks like a filling cabinet with clear plastic drawers and sometimes they come to the front). They're very quiet pets and don't even count with my landlord, so sometimes I forget to mention them when people ask about pets, as they usually are asking due to allergy concerns. So when the agency asked, I was focused on our cats. They know now, of course. But Tina had no reason to think she should be preparing a pet's meal. That was never established as something among her duties when I met with her and an agency nurse the day before to go over everything.

Also, snakes can't eat cooked meat, even if it's safely prepared. It will make them sick. So they could not still be used.

The discovery: storytime

If you want to see video evidence: investigation

UPDATE (added here since the sub automod was being weird):

Apologies for the late update. As I’m sure you can imagine, the last week was exhausting.

This is just to give what closure I can and go over how my last conversation with Tina went, the day after the incident.

When I was on my way to the cafe to escape the house last Tuesday, she actually texted me with an apology, saying “I’m so sorry, I feel so stupid and bad, this never happened before,” and offering to pay me back for the rats and the dish as I had mentioned the rats were expensive. Which is honestly more than I was expecting, but, “never happened before?” Well I sure fucking hope so! Though that begs the question, why now? Why me? I don’t know if there’s a good answer.

We agreed that she could come by the next day in the evening with the money ($15 for the rats, $30 for the dish). She declined doing Venmo or something similar. Possibly didn’t know how to use things like that, since I estimate by her comment of her grandson being my age, she had to be at minimum in her late 60s, probably older. I admit I was hesitant to have her return to the scene of the crime when it was still so unclear what her motivations had truly been, but I wouldn’t be home alone, and she had seemed sincerely contrite, if a bit defensive over the degree of my outrage.

Before the appointed time, she called me to tell me she was on her way, and then made, of all things, a request of me. She would be bringing by her time sheet, and could I sign for the two days she’d been there? I was baffled. The audacity of asking me a favor when our meeting was about her making amends, claiming that her time with me should count as doing her job, AND implying that her paying me back was to get something from me. Maybe that was why she wanted to do cash?

But at this point, I just wanted the whole thing over and done with, and it’s not like I was the one who’d be paying her, just my insurance. It was also confusing because…did that mean that she was still employed?? Surely if she’d been fired, she’d be less willing to play nice with me, would probably be blaming me more for how it affected her. At the very least, she seemed like the kind of person who would bring it up to make me feel a little bad. But maybe she wouldn’t, I don’t know. It was also strange because out of the three (now four) HHAs I’ve had at two different companies, none have ever asked me to sign a timesheet for them. Maybe some of y’all more familiar with the inner workings of these companies can shed some light here.

I was nervous when she showed up. There's something about seeing someone do something so truly unhinged that shatters the basic trust that this fellow human won’t do something else crazy, maybe something more harmful than running one out of the house. So I checked her hands through the window before I opened the door. She had two plastic bags half-full and bundled up to hide their contents under each arm. Strange choice for a weapon, so I chose faith.

There was no more apology upon greeting, she mostly just seemed in a hurry, civil but brusque, like she wanted this behind her as much as I did. While she was rummaging, I asked how she’d disposed of the dish (the follow-up to I made a video about linked in the original post if you want to see, you sickos). And as expected, the first thing she brought out was her timesheet. Sure enough, there was a place for patient signature, and as I took it and the proffered pen and set it against the doorframe to sign, I said, “We said $45, right?” just to confirm.

The look she gave me as she reached into her jacket was SO offended, and her civility evaporated. Like I was questioning her word, and how dare I. “I’m gonna pay you, I said I would.” Calm down, paranoid, was the tone.

It took all my self-control not to respond with, “You also said you’d cook the squash.” Like, yeah, lady, wonder why I would want to triple check anything we agreed to at this point. My bad.

But she did in fact hand me the wad of bills (after I’d handed back the timesheet and she’d checked it), and then she left in a bit of a huff. I just told her to take care of herself to her back.

At this point, after interacting with her again, I am of the opinion that this was simply from some form of psychosis, either a mental health thing or senility, I don’t know. Even talking to her, things were just a little off. Hard to describe, but it was like part of her attention was always somewhere else. I do not believe this was malicious or “weaponized incompetence” as many were saying in the Tik Tok comments. She had nothing to gain from this, and clearly she wants to keep her job. At this point, after the shock and horror has worn off, I just feel kind of bad for her. She clearly shouldn’t be in this profession (which, btw, she said she’s been in for thirty years??), so I more blame these companies for not being more thorough in their hiring and training process. Psych evals should be par for the course, surely.

And I know I probably shouldn’t have, it’s none of my business, but it was eating at my conscience to not express my concern. Because I don’t know what’s going on in her life. When it comes to things like reality breaks and changes in behavior, it can be really hard to see for ourselves, and maybe the people in her life aren’t saying anything, and so she’s not seeking the help she needs. So I texted her a little while after she left.

I thanked her for taking responsibility, acknowledged I was butting in, and then brought up how she said this had never happened before and how she’d seemed confused about how it happened. And that if this was a new kind of thing or there’d been other weird things happening, it might be a good idea to talk to a doctor, just in case something else is going on that needs to be addressed, as gently and non-judgmentally as I could think to say. And I ended it with “But if I’m way off base and out of line, and you’re just used to people eating like that, I apologize and wish you the best.” After a day of silence, she sent two texts, copied here:

“K thank you people make mistakes”

“God bless have a good day”

That was and I’m sure will remain the last I heard from her. I’m sorry I can’t recount some detailed confession about how it had all been a nefarious plot by some vengeful ex who’d had their aunt impersonate an aide to poison me. That would have made for a much more satisfying story.

As for my current aide situation, I’m still working with the replacement they sent to me, but have already requested a new one. She’s sane and competent, but alas, it would seem she much exaggerated her English fluency to my coordinator (who sounded resigned to such a deceit). In any other service context, I wouldn’t care, we have translator apps, but I think we’ve seen how critical clear and easy communication can be when one person is relying on another to meet their needs while sick. Others have told me how long it can take to find a good fit, so I guess I’ll just have to keep spinning the revolving door until I do.

Also, I have put in a request for the agency to reimburse me the takeout I had to get myself that day. And the oven has been cleaned and sanitized to within an inch of its life and seems okay now? I dunno, asking for a replacement or suing anyone seems like a lot of hassle (especially when I already have a medical malpractice case in the works).

Thank you to everyone for taking an interest in my harrowing experience and for your support. It legitimately turned this into something more light hearted that I can laugh at now, where it would have remained traumatic otherwise.

May your squash always be squash.

§ § ----==---- [🐀🐀🐀]

Text recounting of the full events below but oh my god please watch this person explain the wildest thing happening to them

[image text]r/trueoffmychest post by CptnSpaceCase

Today my aide cooked what should not be cooked

I have to get this out, because today feels like an actual nightmare I keep expecting to wake up from.

I'm disabled, and need help with stuff around the house. Today was the second day with a new agency and new home health aide, "Tina." I set it up so she would come by in the morning while I'm sleeping (insomnia is killer), and I texted her last night what I would need done today.

One of those things was to roast some precut squash I'd gotten so I could have it with my salads and pasta. I was very clear in my instructions: what it looked like, where it was in the fridge, how to use the oven, how to cook it. I also have a roommate who was up and told her she could ask them for help if she couldn't find anything. Or come get me if truly necessary.

Now, I have three pet ball pythons. They eat rats that I thaw from frozen in the fridge in a reusable plastic bag. Yes, that's where I'm going with this.

Tina couldn't find the squash, and so, obviously, that meant she should roast the first other thing she could see that was technically also encased in plastic, in a completely different area of the fridge. The FUCKING RATS. In butter and salt, in my nice baking dish.

And like, that's insane all on its own, but if you're going to cook any animal, you should at least clean and skin it first, right??? Like, do the crazy, disgusting thing properly so I can respect the effort, instead of sticking them in as is. Fur and guts and all.

And the smell. Good God baby Jesus the SMELL. It woke me up and had me gagging the moment I opened my bedroom door. Definitely not squash. Or food-smelling for that matter. At first I thought the squash had spontaneously rotted overnight and she'd tried to cook it anyway. That would have been slightly less insane and much preferable.

I had to pull it out of her what she was cooking instead when she said she couldn't find it (it was in plain sight), had to open the oven and see my snakes' dinners in place of my own and still couldn't process what the fuck was happening, what I was looking at and smelling. I don't like yelling at people and generally avoid it. Today was a day for exceptions. And at the end of my half-crazed, dissociative rant, I told her to get the whole dish and its contents and herself out of the fucking house. And to not come back.

Suffice to say, I've contacted the agency to report it and am requesting a new aide. Now I'm sitting at a cafe trying to calm down and eat something despite the scent memory that's taken up permanent residence and turning my stomach. The whole house reeks like musty, sewage-dipped pork that had been left out for a whole day before being cooked in rancid oil, and I'm not sure Febreeze is gonna cut it. I don't want to go home. 🫠😭

[fuck-customers]

🍦 museum person once more

Yesterday while setting up our ice cream stations one of our coworkers was going around handing out rags to everyone for their sanitizing buckets (meant for cleaning counters, food prep surfaces, and freezer windows/doors)

Every. Single. One. Had paint caked into them. Which is SUPER unsafe and you can't use them on food surfaces, even most toddlers know you shouldn't put paint with food. So I called one of my leads over and pointed it out and was like "hey we literally can't use these, we need clean towels for the sanitizer." She agreed, took the rags back, and found our manager to talk to him. They both in turn went to find our facilities manager, who is the ONLY ONE with access to the paint all over the rags.

His EXACT WORDS, which I heard him say, were, "Well paint isn't one of the Big Nine allergens, and it's non toxic. Plus they just came out of the wash. So it's fine."

HELLO????????

Oh so sorry, didn't realize that just because paint doesn't contain soy and gluten means it's safe to mix with fucking ice cream. I cannot fucking BELIEVE this man still works here. My manager had to literally argue with him to get us new rags, and they finally brought out the new ones (which were perfectly clean) and the facilities manager *complained* that we were taking all his rags.

The rags for us. For us to CLEAN OUR STATIONS.

This man also had the audacity to blame us the day prior for "throwing out the rags" and claiming that we're at fault for not having any. Like no!!! You fuck head!!! You're getting paint on all of them so we literally can't use them!!!!

Posted by admin Rodney

[coffeegnomee]

for the inevitable day I can be proven wrong, I just want to say just how many times I think Kab and Mane are secretly working together and I get really convinced it all makes sense and if she is as good of an actor as she insists then this is just not a crazy take at all.

But then I remember what she says on her streams and I remember I have zero belief that that could be true in the slightest.

But then something like Hannah conveniently being logged out right above the claymore and becoming the perfect scapegoat for how mane found it, or the signs that mane could have found it himself covers up the concept of a mole on the team. How much it reminds me of what spoke was like in the s3 finale. How much it's in the little moments that expose a liar regardless of what they say.

How zam literally gave her the example of working with mapicc to kill pangi and how that showed how dedicated he was to him getting the mapicc kill. How convenient it is for her if the claymore fails so she can be the one to kill mane. How easy it would be dm mane that. and mane can take care of covering for her by saying he found it. how i definitely believe he would be intrigued and pleased with the possibility of a story like that.

how much mane targets her and how easy of a justification that is for her to infiltrate the opposition. How incredibly offended she gets when anyone implies this isn't her kill, while she stays to the side making other's plans come to light.

How much she insists on knowing all of zam's plans. always asking questions.

how much she insists that she cares about zam but has also said multiple times she wants to do a crazy arc on zam. the two can be true because they do care about each other outside of the server.

how she picked mane's iron farm for the conversation with bacon way back when. How she flew off to mane's lag machine area when talking to woogie. How coincidental that of all the places it was two manepear locations in the same week. How much i believe that that is the kind of audacity that kab would love to write into a story.

I just can't shake the Jumper paranoia since s5. How convincing jumper was for being a part of the team. How there were clear points of her being a traitor that got so completely brushed under the rug with easy excuses from her. How easily Spoke s3 got in on zam's team without trying because zam was willing to trust him instantaneously because they once shared views. Zam did all the heavy lifting for making Spoke not look sus, spoke just had to go along for the ride and make tiny silly mistakes that implicated every other member of the server while systematically leading to clown finding the bases himself.

But then i remember Kab is simply always happy when something benefits her, and so not being upset in the slightest over mapicc's claymore not working is so much easier explained as her just being happy her plan can work. Rather than already knowing it was never going to work.

And then I remember how afraid she gets about doing a plan and how much she overthinks before doing it. How much it feels like she's a bad actor when she turns on the acting, so it feels like she's just not good at acting. But what if she isn't.

The possibility is so low and yet the examples are there.

Because she's either the worst manipulator in the world and cannot read people and has only succeeded due to the shortness of other servers, or she holds out for the long con and can handle lying over a very long period of time and covering it by talking about her random other plans as cover for the long term, and she's lying to chat as well in every moment she is streaming. Which is a mind fuck I was not prepared for.

Because you don't need to actually characterize people well in order to manipulate them. You just need to understand yourself. And you just need to craft a narrative that makes enough sense for others to fill in the gaps.

but that's just a conspiracy. one that blossoms in every zam stream and dies in every kab stream. Hopefully I'm wrong but either way we'll know at the end of the season.

[bicth-and-in-that-order]

Anyway, if you criticize Arcane in any capacity and you value your time and intelligence, do not interact with this unhinged, rabid animal aka sapphiresapphic:

She has, and I say this with no exaggeration, sent me 100+ anon messages telling me to kill myself because I had the audacity to say bad things about her only personality trait

Anyway, I hope she gets the psychiatric help she needs because her current dose of meds is clearly not enough. I recommend some atorvastain too because this can’t be good for the heart.

[laswells-ashtray]

Okay, I have a silly request BUT- young John Price shenanigans WITH Macmillan.

I can see it now tbh. You think that man is sassy now? You should’ve seen him in his sergeant days.

Dude cussed out a whole Lieutenant, commanding officer, AND a few of his peers. He probably even got suspended a few times before the higher ups just gave up and made him scrub the showers.

I feel like Mac would also be a dad to him in a way. Stern, no nonsense, yet very tolerant of all of Price’s bullshit antics.

I’m very convinced that Price went on many solo missions by himself against orders, stole a few of his superior’s cars, and was out late past base curfew. Almost gave Mac a heart attack a few of those times and DEFINITELY got a smack to the back of the head.

I know little about MacMillan, I'll admit but one thing I do know is that he's Scottish. And as a Scot, [I need to bring it u every so often to you lot never mistake me as English], I know a lot about pissing off Scottish elders. Therefore:

"Hawl you, you crabbit little git. You're the one who insisted on playing hero, you're the one who fucked your ankle so if you're gonna be annoyed about not going on the next mission, you're to fucking blame."

The sheer angry look on little John Price's face would intimidate many, not Mac. He knows better. To him, it's just a boy with a petted lip.

"My ankle isn't even that bad, you're-"

"If the next word out of your mouth is overreacting then you're leaving here with a face like a skelped arse."

That promptly shuts him up, on more than one occasion he's smacked John with his gloves when he's holding them and they're fucking nippy, he knows that from experience.

"Time do you call this?"

The cheeky little fucker has the audacity to laugh at him.

"You look like a Bond villain, sitting there."

"Well, Mr Bond. You'll be scrubbing the loos clean with a fucking toothbrush."

Is it patriotic to say he likes watching the Englishman suffer? No, he doesn't but maybe it'll teach John not to make him suffer when he pulls another one of those fucking disappearing stunts.

"That's a pisstake, Mac."

"You're far too cocky for someone that'll spend tomorrow on his hands and knees, scrubbing bogs."

There's a brief moment of silence where he makes the mistake of thinking he might've gotten through to John before-

"Connery was the worst Bond."

"Get back here, you twisted little shite."

John is concussed. Everyone but John is willing to accept that he's concussed. Even when he's leaning a little too heavily into Mac's side and using the other man's head to block the sunlight from his eyes, he isn't willing to accept the fact that he's concussed.

"This gonnae teach ye not to run ahead like a fanny?" Mac is sympathetic, to an extent.

"Saved a rookie." John did and maybe later, he'll clap him on the back and tell him `good job, son` but right now he kind of wants to strangle him.

"That you did, not without taking a header when you landed tits o`er taes, mind you." His heart about hit his hole when he saw it, John had taken a hard hit saving a cocky younger boy who'd barged ahead against orders thinking he was the dog's bollocks.

"He has a little one at home, showed me pictures, Couldn't let him get killed even if he is an arrogant bastard."

"Aye, showed me pictures of the wain. She's a wee sweetheart, still doesn't give you the right to act like a prick."

"Who've I got at home other than the spider that lives by my window." One day he was going to kill John Price and he wouldn't feel bad about it, he was positive of the fact.

"You've got me, ye daft fanny. No getting yerself blown up tae fuck, too much paperwork on my end." That and it might kill him. John Price was a bitchy, reckless arsehole with no self-restraint when it came to the job and he'd wormed his way onto the short list of people that Mac could find himself giving a fuck about. The bastard.

[dis-astre]

forever remembering that time in high school when my teacher had the audacity to say "1832 was barely a manifestation, it was like one day and wasn't big nor important" and my friends had to physically restrain me from screaming or throwing her my book

[ilikefelines]

Sure is GRRM making a point in fire and blood that bastardphobia is bad? Yup. But he's also making a point about Rhaenyra's selfishness and greed. She knew that the Strong-Boys would be in danger from the moment they came out with brown hair but still continued. It's not just bastardphobia is bad. There are layers to this people.

And also miss me with that 'legally they were Velaryon's' nonsense. In GRRMs Planetos, he's gone to great pains to show that there is no demarcation between bloodlines and legality.

[waynes-multiverse]

Glad to hear the tête-à-tête with Ted went as expected 😂

Let's dive into this wonderful comment! 🤍

Seeing a glimpse of their growing friendship in the first flashback scene was somehow both sweet and bittersweet, but of course, there’s also that hint of “more” on Beau’s side that he’s desperately trying to hide. 😅

Definitely bittersweet 😭 Makes you really feel for Beau. What an incredibly tough situation to be in, honestly 💔

Loll not the dad voice! So sweet that he tried to “cut her off,” even though he ultimately wasn’t successful. Always more shit hitting the fan, isn’t there? 😬

Yup, and they both know it. They've picked a very hard job 😅 But it's hard to resist the dad voice! But there's understanding on both sides. Beau, for sure, knows what it's like to be obsessed with a case 🙈

That’s what makes their situation all the harder – the fact that she’s in law enforcement as well and understands this aspect of things all too well. 😰 It’s truly amazing that she and Beau were able to get past this hurdle and actually fall in love. It shows how forgiving she is, I think.

Yes, this 💯 And I definitely see her as forgiving. She knows who the real enemy is, and it ain't Beau. She knows even good people can make mistakes. Part of the job. Tragic, but it happens 🤷‍♀️ Plus, I think considering her own hidden feelings for him, she had an easier time seeing past all that.

HELP. I’m deceased. 🤣🤣🤣 I was smirking/laughing throughout this entire exchange, but this in particular took me out! Ted has nothing but audacity. But at least the reader had Beau’s back on this one. 😆

Glad that exchange made you laugh! I honeslty love writing those ridiculous scenes. This one reminded me somewhat of Ben vs. Colt in Rehab 😂

I imagine Ted as some stuck-up, somewhat bougeois prosecutor that both Beau and Randy talked a lot of shit about behind his back. So Beau's not only offended she dated him for himself, but probably for Randy too 🤣

Ahh, nice that they had this heart to heart, and also this revelation. But while of course that really does nothing to soothe Beau’s guilt, at least it allows her to forgive him.

I saw this mostly as an attempt to soothe Beau's guilt. You can tell she was still a bit judgmental in her thoughts à la "Well, I, the genius, wouldn't have done it/seen right through it, but oh well, guess not everyone can be me..." 😅

Eventually, she forgave him either way because she knows the risks and dangers of the job and that not every decision you make will be the right one in the end

LMAO Oh Beau. You’re right, it is funny to imagine him saying “slimy coyote.” 😂 Bet this is what he wishes would happen to Ted:

Oh, he for sure wanted to Wile E. Coyote Ted 🤣🤣

Oooh what a declaration that is from her! The fact that Beau’s the best she’s ever had, even including Randy, I’m assuming. 😅

Well, there's two options lol, right? Either she only said it to make him feel better, knowing his insecurities. Or, it's fully true and she decided to go for it. I honestly think it's the second. Beau seems to match her energy a bit better than Randy probably did 😂🔥

And Beau, sweet Beau, that was a beautiful rom-com worthy line right there. 💗

Ikr? Imagine Carla hearing that! She'd be livid 😂😂 But I enjoyed playing with the lines there of "first loves" vs. "true loves"

Ooh shit, Diane is certainly up to something. 😬😬

Oh boy, we all should be concerned! She might have some (deathly) surprises up her sleeve... 👀

Polaris – Chapter 7

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, serial killer, mentions of cartels, grief, smut

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: The chapter where we find out why Ted is on Beau's punch list aka The One With Ted... 😂

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 7: Storm Coming

May 2021

“I sold the house,” you said, your voice ripping through the quiet of the car during another starry stake-out night.

“So you’re homeless now?” Beau joked and peeled his eyes away from the front window view and glanced at you from the driver’s seat, his hand resting on the steering wheel, the other one in his lap.

You chuckled. “Yup, but I got a hot plate now in my motel room and one of those Italian moka pots. So, you know, some would say I’m living the dream.”

Beau snorted in amusement before he pensively rubbed his mouth with two fingers. “You didn’t have to sell the house, you know?”

You heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I kinda did, though… I didn’t like staying in there anymore. It’s just… too many memories, I guess? ‘Sides, I’m always down here anyways. Actually considering moving here.”

Beau frowned at you, his nose scrunching. “What, to Mexico? Are you nuts? Over my dead body are you doin’ that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a say in it,” you retorted rather playfully and put a shocked palm on your chest in mock.

“Damn right, I do,” Beau scoffed his reply with a teasing grin. “Who do you think is lookin’ out for ya, huh?”

“Wait, you think you are? That’s what you believe?” You snorted a laugh, entering banter territory with him.

It was usually how you passed your time during most of these stake-outs – laughing, teasing, and the occasional talking about your problems. You’d never known Beau like this before. He was your husband’s best friend, but he had been more of an acquaintance to you. Now, after months of spending close to every day together, it felt like he was your best friend. Since Randy’s death, he’d been there for you, even if it was mostly out of guilt.

“Yeah, what d’you think?” Beau countered challengingly.

“Oh sweetie, you’re not looking after me. I’m looking after you,” you stated confidently. The smile that twitched on his lips seemed to actually agree with you. “Out of the two of us, you’re the way bigger wreck. Some would even think it’s your husband who died, not mine.”

“Are you calling me a girl?”

You coolly shrugged your shoulders. “Either I’m calling you a girl, or I’m calling you gay. I’ll let you pick.”

Laughingly, Beau scoffed and muttered, “You wish I was gay.”

However, you still heard his mumbled reply and responded, “Actually, I wish you were a girl and that I was gay.”

Beau stared at you and leaned back against the door for a better view of you, his brow raised and the corners of his lips drawn slightly upwards in amusement. “What are we even talking about?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted with a shake of your head.

The two of you then burst into loud laughter that filled the entire SUV. For a moment, all your sorrows and hardships seemed to be forgotten, carried away to the desert with the nightly breeze. Then, the familiar and comfortable quiet took over the car again.

“I’m moving out of the house, too,” Beau said, his eyes focusing on the barren landscape and desolate road ahead. “I’m giving it to Carla. I mean, she didn’t ask me to. God knows she can take care of herself… But I want Emily to keep living in the home she grew up in, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that. That’s really nice,” you said quietly. Your soft smile then morphed to a grin. “So you’re homeless, too, huh?”

Beau laughed, throwing his head back into the seat. “Yeah, guess I am. Maybe we should live together?” he suggested half-jokingly.

“Like roommates? Ugh, God no!” You scoffed in abhorrence. “We’re way too old for that. You’re over forty, I’m barely in my thirties–”

“You do know I know exactly how old you really are, right?” Beau teased.

You decided to ignore that jab and continued, unbothered. “It would be seriously so sad. The Widow And The Divorcee – sounds like the worst sitcom on the planet. ‘Sides, it’d be super awkward if one of us starts dating again.”

“Fine, maybe you’re right,” Beau relented with a soft chuckle and then glanced at you sideways. His heart gained speed in his chest. “You ever think about it? Dating? Gettin’ out there again? Been nine months.”

You twitched your shoulders, choosing not to look at him. “I don’t know. Is nine months long enough after your husband died?”

Thoughtfully, Beau licked his lips and let out a small sigh. “I don’t think there’s a timeline, or a right and wrong. I just think it’s one of those things that when you’re ready, you’re ready.”
 “Well, consider me not ready then, I guess,” you replied honestly.

“Alright,” Beau accepted, bobbing his head. “But I still think you should try again at some point, you know? You shouldn’t be alone for the rest of your life. First of all, it’d be a total waste, ‘cause, I mean, look at you. And secondly, you’re barely in your thirties, after all,” he repeated your earlier joke with a soft grin.

You felt the heat creep to your cheeks in the moonlight. As you looked at him, you could see his smirk, making you laugh. “Noted,” you replied and were thankful for his pep talk. “I mean, there’ve been offers.”

Beau quirked one eyebrow, a hard lump forming in his throat as his chest tightened. “Offers? Like plural? Who?”

“Well, just some of the guys from our team. Cody, Jordan, Ted…” you named a few. “Also a few locals. Remember those guys we played pool with a few weeks ago? Two of ‘em asked for my number.”

“Huh. That is plural…” Beau pursed his lips and couldn’t keep his brow from wrinkling, his grip on the steering wheel stiffening. “Well, you know, when you’re not ready, you’re not ready. Shouldn’t force anything. No rush, darlin’.”

Smooth, Beau thought wryly with an internal sigh.

“Right, I know,” you agreed. “I do miss sex, though. Getting kinda bored of my vibrator.”

Beau choked on his spit. “Jesus…”

“What? Am I not allowed to talk about it? I thought we were friends. You’re supposed to care about my well-being and happiness,” you argued, frowning.

“I do care. Just… Can we please not talk about that?” he begged and exhaled a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his freckled nose.

“Fine. I miss having women around…” You shrugged and muttered, “Didn’t peg you for a prude.”

“Okay, let’s just get one thing straight – I’m not a prude,” he clarified in defense, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

“Alright, also noted,” you quipped, smirking to yourself. Sometimes you enjoyed making him a little uncomfortable. His blushed cheeks could be quite cute. “What about you? Have you still not talked to Carla? I’m sure you can win her back if you tried. You’re a lot better now.”

“Well, thank you for the, uh, vote of confidence, but it’s really over, I guess. We just talked about all the divorce proceedings last time. I actually think she started datin’ someone recently,” Beau told you.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? Who?”

“I guess some rich tech guy. I don’t know…”

“And you’re good with that?” you questioned in disbelief.

Beau scoffed a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Ha, no… But what am I gonna do? Kinda shot myself in the leg with that one. I don’t blame her for moving on. It’s been over for months now.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry. I was kinda rooting for you two,” you admitted.

“Well, thanks, but we weren’t you and Randy,” Beau said. It made your brow knit.

“What d’you mean?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean,” Beau replied as if it were obvious, but you still shook your head. He sighed. “You and Randy would’ve never gotten divorced.”

“You don’t know that.” Honestly, you doubted it yourself, but you were too curious to find out what he meant by his statement.

“I do know that,” Beau insisted with certainty. “You guys had that once-in-a-lifetime kinda love. The kind that made other people jealous, you know? Your love made every other relationship pale in comparison. I always figured once the honeymoon phase was over, you’d settle and be less vomit-inducing, but that never happened. Me and Carla were never like that. Not even in the beginning,” he explained, a small, soft smile shaping his mouth. “You guys were special. True love. The stuff folk singers write cheesy songs about.”

“I guess we were,” you mused quietly, the memory of everything Randy was to you causing tears to well in your eyes.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Beau apologized as soon as he noticed the sadness on your face. He reached his hand over to your side and squeezed your thigh gently, just above the knee.

“No, it’s alright,” you brushed him off, swallowing your heartache down. “But hey, if Carla wasn’t your once-in-a-lifetime, maybe she’s still out there. You just haven’t found her yet. I mean, that’s kinda a nice outlook, right?”

Licking his lips, he bobbed his head, his gaze focused on his hand on the steering wheel. “I doubt it.”

“Why? Never say never,” you said encouragingly.

“Well, maybe I already met her, and it’s too late now,” he replied. It sounded more like an actual fact than a hypothetical theory. You found yourself wondering.

“What, did you have like an old college flame? The one that got away?” you teased lightheartedly, but he only grew more serious.

“Somethin’ like that,” he replied vaguely, rubbing his mouth with his fingers.

“Look her up on Facebook. Maybe she’s divorced, too. You could reconnect or something,” you suggested. He nodded but didn’t seem too convinced. You then shot him a hesitant glance from your periphery. “So, now that Carla’s moving on, are you gonna start dating now, too? Jump back into the game?”

“I guess so… Why?” A part of him was curious to hear your response, while another part reminded him that his desired answer was only wishful thinking – and completely insane on top of that.

“That fiery brunette lady at the bar last night seemed really interested in you. Maybe you should hook up with her if she’s there again tomorrow night?” you proposed in earnest.

Wide-eyed, Beau blinked at you in incredulity – like you had lost your goddamn mind. “I’m sorry, what?! Hook up? Who are you right now? Are you tryin’ to set me up?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged simply, not seeing what the big problem was. “Don’t look at me like I’m trying to convince you to get a tramp stamp above your ass with a dirty needle. I’m just trying to be a good wingman… woman. Randy would’ve tried to set you up, right?”

Beau sighed frustratedly. “Yeah, he would’ve,” he admitted in a grumble and then barked, slightly more furious, “But you ain’t him. And I don’t want you to be, so stop it, alright?”

“Geez, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help,” you mumbled defensively and raised your hands in surrender, unsuccessfully hiding your upset over his reaction. He felt guilty when he saw the small pout on your face.

Beau rubbed his forehead before dragging his palm over the rest of his face. “I know. I’m sorry, too,” he said and let out a deep breath through his nose. “I just-… I guess I’m just waiting, okay?”

“Waiting for what?”

Beau squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. For you to be ready, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t very well do that now, could he?

“For Christ’s sake, Y/N…” he breathed exhaustively. That was all he managed to say. With his palm on his mouth, he rested his elbow against the car door, gazing out the window.

“Why are you so upset?” you asked, your brow woven with confusion.

“Switch subjects,” he requested.

It was a phrase the two of you used whenever you didn’t want to talk about something anymore. When someone pushed too much, or the topic got too emotional and you needed a break. The only rule was to always respect the request, so you had no choice but to let it go after that.

“The Texans game sucked last night, huh?”

That elicited a snort from him, and he looked at you with a warm smile. “Yeah, goddamn awful.”

“How many times are you gonna watch those?”

Beau’s question broke your concentration. Your gaze snapped from your laptop screen to his concerned face. You’d been rewatching the victims’ videos for four days straight now, trying to find more clues. Maybe even something that directly led to Diane.

“I keep thinking maybe I’ve missed something,” you mumbled and stared back into the computer, your teeth gnawing on the pen between your lips. “It’s 48 hours each. We have twenty-four victims. I keep watching them sped-up to get through them all, but maybe I should slow ‘em down. I mean, I’ve watched them full-length, normal speed a couple of times before, but maybe I should watch ‘em even slower and really focus, you know? There’s gotta be something there…”

Bobbing his head worriedly, Beau pursed his lips and took a scan of your desk. He counted eight empty cups of coffee and five cans of energy drinks. There were bags under your red eyes and your hands were jittering. He knew you hadn’t slept a lot. He tried to hold you in his arms, but as soon as he dozed off, you snuck out and went back to work.

Beau shut the laptop. “You’re cut off.”

“Hey!”

“Y/N, you need to sleep. Just look at you, darlin’. This obsession isn’t healthy. I’m taking you home,” he declared sternly, ignoring your protests. You were pretty sure he had used his dad voice, too.

“Y/N, you need to sleep. Just look at you, darlin’. This obsession isn’t healthy. I’m taking you home,” he declared sternly, ignoring your protests. You were pretty sure he had used his dad voice, too.

“I need that woman in prison, Beau.”

“You startin’ to sound like Jenny…” Beau quipped under his breath.

“We’re running out of time. There’s only one day left before the next victim drops,” you stated and tried your best to keep your voice steady as it broke off towards the end.

“I know.” Beau clasped your shoulder and squeezed gently. “And we’ll get her. I promise you. But you’re no good to any of us if you’re exhausted and losing it right now.” You nodded and rose from your chair. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him, kissing the top of your head affectionately. “How about some dinner, huh?”

You grinned warmly. “What, like a second date?”

“Exactly like a second date,” Beau said and mirrored your grin. He was making up for lost time as best as he could, even if it meant taking you out every night for the rest of your life.

Your phone buzzed on the table, your brow quirking at the number. Eagerly, you picked up and wound yourself out of Beau’s embrace. “Special Agent Y/L/N… Uh-huh… Great, thank you.”

Beau pursed his lips. “We’re not going out, are we?”

“‘fraid not, Sheriff.” You shook your head and chuckled at his groan. “That was IT. They’re finally done and sending over the IP addresses.”

“Alright, guess I’m gettin’ take out,” Beau announced with a small sigh, knowing the two of you were in for a long night – and not the one he had planned.

You smiled and pecked his lips. “Thank you.”

August 2020

Beau’s heart thudded frantically in his chest as his knuckles tapped your front door in the early evening. The sky was a color spectacle full of azures, indigos, and apricots as the summer sun slowly set. His boots only stood on that same spot not even twenty-four hours ago. It still felt like a surreal nightmare he couldn’t escape, his hope to wake up soon a ceaseless prayer.

He’d stayed with you all night, held you as you cried yourself to sleep. Beau awoke on your couch with your head resting on his thigh and a strange feeling in his gut. He couldn’t help but think you were beautiful, even in a state of utter turmoil, shoving said thought swiftly down into the depths of his darkening soul.

But he’d spent all day thinking of you, plagued by guilt and torn by misplaced feelings. He’d sat through hours of interviews, going over and over the events of last night till his mind spun like a hamster wheel. He was forced to fill out forms, sign documents, and recount each unforgettable step. He’d listened to lectures, sermons, and admonitions. His captain gave him a tongue-lashing that sounded like mere white noise before he was sent home with a suspension – investigation pending.

Only he didn’t go home; he came here.

At home, his wife and daughter were waiting – for a husband, a father, an explanation. None of which he could provide. Beau wanted to wallow in his grief, his guilt, his loss in peace. He lacked the strength to be strong, play pretend, and act above it all. He wanted to be punished, sent to perdition, and held accountable for his lapse of judgment. A suspension wasn’t good enough. It barely patched the abysmal gaps in his heart.

The only suitable punishment was you. Witnessing your suffering was his personally crafted hell. You were the broken remnants of his destruction, the shattered pieces of his idiocy, the explosive fallout of his arrogance.

And you hadn’t answered a single call or text of his. His torturous worry was part of his penalty.

Consecutive rings of the doorbell and incessant knocks remained unanswered. For a moment, Beau rested his forehead on the door. He felt helpless and clueless all the same. You had friends and family to take care of you, probably better suited and closer to you than him, but somehow he felt burdened with the responsibility.

He took the spare key out of the left-side planter and barged inside. The ground floor was deserted. Last night’s uneaten dinner still sat untouched on the table. It felt like a whiplash against his bare back.

Bolting upstairs, he found the door to the main bedroom ajar. He pried it open slowly, the sight of you delivering his second lashing. This time, he felt the sting burning through to his heart.

He found you curled up in bed, on your husband’s side, in your husband’s t-shirt, with your wedding photo album clutched tightly in your arms. His breath halted for a moment; his heart did, too.

Did he do this? Was this all his fault?

“Y/N?” His deep voice was quiet and careful as he spoke. Slowly, he walked over to your side and knelt down in front of you. “Darlin’, hey… You need to get up. Eat somethin’.”

Beau was sure you hadn’t moved all day. He didn’t ask you if you were alright or how you were doing. The question seemed insulting. The answer was obvious. Your phone was lighting up on the nightstand with a million unanswered calls and messages, his own among them. Your beautiful eyes were vacant, red, and empty. You didn’t cry, however, not anymore. You were dehydrated and all out of tears at this point. You never looked at him, not even a glance.

“I want him back,” you whispered, your voice coarse from screaming, crying, cursing.

Beau nodded, licking his lips. Caringly, he caressed your head, brushing a few strands of messy hair out of your face. “I know. I hope you know I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat if I could.”

For the first time your eyes found his. Your gaze was scathing and piercing. “Tell me what happened.”

Beau let out a harrowing sigh. He had rehashed the story all day long. He wasn’t sure if he could do it again, but maybe this version was the most important one. Who deserved the truth more than you?

“Y/N, I don’t think this is such a good idea, darlin’,” Beau tried to reason, mostly for himself. He wanted to hold on a little longer, the idea of you hating him tearing him apart. He wanted to spare himself the additional guilt, the anger, the hurt.

“Tell me or leave.”

Beau closed his eyes and nodded hesitantly. “Okay, alright.” He took a deep breath and settled down on the floor, leaning his back against the wooden bedside table. “We were closing in on that biker gang. Few murders, arms trafficking, drug deals… You know the drill. I’m sure Ra-… he filled you in.”

Not that long ago, Randy had asked you for advise on the case. You gave him your contacts in the DEA and a number to a CI.

“Your DEA guy warned us. Said the gang was working closely with the cartel down in Juárez. But I had my own intel that only a few members were meeting at the Hatcher warehouse in MacGregor. It was supposed to be a small deal. But I figured it could lead to bigger things if we shook ‘em down, you know? But fuckin’ Harper told us no like usual. Refused to give us back-up. Said to pass the case on to the DEA. But Randy and I worked our asses off the last few months to get even this far. We were so close. I didn’t wanna let go… So, I suggested we go in anyways. It was supposed to be only three guys from the gang. I knew if we were smart about it, we could easily take ‘em down, you know?”

You rolled onto your back and propped yourself up on the bed. Shaking your head, you chuckled humorlessly and grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle from the nightstand. “‘Course you did. It’s not the first time you broke a rule or shit on authority.”

“Yeah, and I was right every single time,” Beau bit. His anger wasn’t geared at you but at himself. He knew he was in the wrong. He flew too close to the sun and got burned. But he still felt the need to defend himself, even if it was unjustified.

His gaze drifted to the dresser and the patch of wall above it, decorated with photographic evidence of yours and his partner’s life together. The wedding, dates, vacations, holidays – it was all there. Beau had watched it all, start to finish. He wished he could rewind the tape and cut off the ending, all so you could have the love of your life back. He didn’t know yet your cassette had a B-side. One that featured him.

“You got fucking lucky, is all,” you scoffed.

“Randy backed me up on it!”

“Of course he did! You’re his fucking partner! He would’ve followed you anywhere if you asked him to,” you snapped, shaking your head. You gulped down some whiskey then and locked your jaw before you met his eyes again with a glare. “And? What happened then, Beau? Was it only three guys?”

“No.” The word was almost inaudible. He shook his head with a harsh swallow. “They were meetin’ with a few cartel members there. My intel never said anything about that. When we were inside and saw what was really going on, it was already too late to get out. They made us, bullets started flyin’… They got a hold of Randy and… shot him.” A tear escaped down his cheek, his throat closing as he tried to choke out the last bit of the story. “I had to leave him there. I barely got out myself. I’m sorry, Y/N. I know this is on me.”

Your lips twitched with a bitter smile. You didn’t look at him, just rubbed your tired eyes. “Damn right it is. Get out.”

“Y/N, please–”

The storm in your eyes made him stop as you met his gaze, his useless apologies becoming stuck in his throat. “I said, get out. I ain’t asking a third time. You’re the reason my husband is dead. You’re the reason I don’t even have a body to bury. So, get the fuck out.” Like a snakebite, your words were targeted, sharp, and venomous.

You finally got out of bed and prodded towards the en-suite bathroom. The truth had been what you needed to switch the fighter inside of you back on. You knew what you wanted to do then and were determined to get it.

“Y/N–”

��Do you know what cartels do to bodies, Beau? To rivals? To law enforcement? ‘Cause I just came back from a job where we found forty-eight decapitated bodies, left to rot inside the walls of a house. Still haven’t found the heads yet. Probably never will,” you told him and stared him dead into his dark green eyes. “Ever seen that before, desperado?”

Beau bit his lips, averting his gaze. “No.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “Now, leave. Please. Get the fuck outta my house. I don’t wanna see you anymore,” you spat and slammed the bathroom door shut behind you.

Beau then grabbed the whiskey bottle you’d left and walked out of your home. It was the first of many nights he started to drink himself to sleep, but at least it kept the nightmares temporarily at bay.

“Theodore.” Beau forced a bright smile onto his freckle-dusted face, although the stiff features could barely fool anyone. At least, they wouldn’t have fooled you.

“Beau, good to see you again.” Ted smiled and did a more convincing job of it as he waltzed into Lewis and Clark County’s Sheriff’s Department. It almost seemed like he meant it. “I was surprised when Y/N told me you got a gig as a sheriff here.”

Translation: I was surprised because you were such a fuck-up back in Texas.

Beau feigned a chuckle. “Yeah, I bet you were.”

“Hopefully, you’re givin’ the DAs here less headaches,” Ted jabbed under the disguise of friendly banter. He then turned to Jenny with that same shit-eating grin. “Your sheriff is a little troublemaker.”

Sweet Lord, Beau wanted to whack the bastard.

The blonde deputy coolly brushed the accusation off. She shrugged and playfully nudged Beau’s arm, sending the Texan attorney a smile. “I prefer him that way.”

“Hey, there she is!” Beau smiled with frazzled relief when you finally hurried into the station. A little while longer, and he definitely would’ve thrown a punch.

“Hey, Ted. Thanks for coming. How was your flight?” You greeted him with a warm smile and a quick hug.

“Good, good. Never been to Montana before,” Ted said and then let his eyes wander up and down your body. “Look at you. You look great!”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You subtly cleared your throat. You could physically feel Beau stiffen next to you. In your periphery, you could spy a tightly clenched jaw and a few strained muscles in his neck.

“Mind if Y/N and I borrow your office, Sheriff Arlen?” Ted asked and emphasized his title. “Considering the nature of this case, I’d like to keep it as private as possible. Don’t want anything to reach Ms. Newton’s ears.”

Your hunch had been right. Several IP addresses pointed to Diane, some to public Wi-Fi’s. You and the team still needed to connect her to the other states and find out where she’d been staying there, but you could definitely trace some posts in recent weeks to her home in Montana. It was enough for an arrest warrant, but you still needed more evidence.

Additionally, it had all come together a little too easily. It seemed like a giant trap you were walking into. Diane wanted to be caught. But why?

“Why don’t I just join you? I’m sure Y/N here doesn’t mind,” Beau suggested with a tight smile and then snaked his arm around your middle, pulling you closer. “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Internally, you sighed a little at his obvious territorial pissing, but you were willing to throw him a bone. You stretched up and claimed his plump lips in a fervent kiss that Beau only all too happily reciprocated.

“Not at all, Sheriff. You know I always appreciate your input,” you replied with a dirty smirk at the double entendre.

As Beau looked down at you, he mouthed ‘God, I love you.’ You grinned in response.

“Happy to give it to you,” he said with another sweet peck of your lips. A triumphant and slightly cocky grin graced his lips as he looked back at Ted.

“Oh, so you two are back together?” Ted realized, his brow rising to his hairline. He’d never seen you two together but certainly had heard the whispers down in Mexico from your old task force. He’d been the DA for those cases as well. You’d never explicitly told him about you and Beau, though, even when he had tried to pry a little on those dates you went on.

“Well, I’m a hard one to quit,” Beau quipped almost proudly, like a peacock showing off his fan of feathers.

“As are cigarettes and many other vices,” Ted shot back with the same stupidly proud grin.

Translation: You’re an ass. And a failure. She deserves so much better. I’m ‘better.’ But maybe that didn't need a translation.

Beau should’ve known it was hard to out-argue a lawyer and ground his jaw. After all, he’d been married to one for many years.

You, on the other hand, shared a wide-eyed and baffled look with Jenny that bordered on amusement. You had almost gasped in shock. You hadn’t expected such a fiery reply, sure the men would stick to their Southern manners. But, oh well, everyone’s packing in fucking Texas…

“Why don’t you two go ahead? I’ll join you in a minute,” you ordered more than you earnestly proposed and shooed the two men down the hallway towards Beau’s office.

“Sure it’s such a good idea to lock those two in a room alone?” Jenny teased, her eyes lingering a little too long on Ted’s perfectly formed ass as he sauntered down the hall.

You couldn’t blame her. You had checked out Beau’s in the same breath.

“It’s only for a short time. They’re not gonna kill each other,” you laughed it off. Jenny arched a doubtful eyebrow at you. “That quickly,” you added a correction. “So, what did I miss here?” you asked and nodded towards the two men, closing the door to Beau’s office behind them. All you heard last was them talking about the recent Texans game.

Ugh, of course, they’d end up by football…

“Dick measuring contest,” Jenny supplied wryly.

“Ah, figured…”

“Well, better them than to lock Agent Y/L/N and the sheriff into the same room,” Poppernak joked with a soft chuckle as he appeared next to you and Jenny, chiming into the conversation.

You gaped at him in mock-shock. “Mo! I can’t believe you just said that,” you chided playfully.

His cheeks turned crimson red. “I’m sorry, Special Agent Y/L/N,” he apologized in a fluster.

“Mo, I told you to call me by my first name,” you reminded him with a smile. “Or I’m gonna have to start giving you silly names like Beau does.”

“Oh, I love Sheriff Arlen’s nicknames,” he quickly defended with a nervous laugh.

“Do you?” Jenny tilted her head with a questioning eyebrow.

He shrugged. “They’re clever.”

August 2020

“Old Fashioned,” you ordered with a look at the bartender, feeling Beau’s confused eyes and crinkled brow wander up to you. “Couldn’t have picked a nicer bar, huh? This place is a dump. You know that, right?”

Beau clicked his tongue and took a sip from his Ranch Water. “What are you doing here? Thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You let out a small sigh but didn’t meet his gaze. “Carla called me. Your family is worried about you.”

“I didn’t tell her where I was. How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. Carla said you haven’t been home in three days. Figured you’d gone on a bender. This is the fifth cop bar I checked out. Finally got lucky,” you said and thanked the bartender as he placed his drink in front of you. You settled down on a barstool next to Beau.

“Quite the effort. Sure I’m worth it?”

Your tongue swept over your lips. “Beau, look at me.” His forest-green eyes found yours upon your soft plea. “I’m sorry I put all that shit on you. It wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, okay? His death isn’t on you. I know you loved him like a brother.”

“I did.” Beau took another sip of his drink. “But it is my fault. I was reckless and arrogant. We both know it.”

“It was a set-up, alright? I talked to my DEA contact. Cody said your intel was wrong. They knew you and Randy were closing in on them. They wanted to get rid of you,” you explained.

Beau smacked his lips. “I still shoulda known better. I should’ve seen it was a trap.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. You couldn’t say you would’ve done the same thing, but you knew Beau would’ve never purposely put Randy in danger if he had even the faintest idea. “But it could’ve happened to anybody. This was bigger than you knew.”

“It wouldn’t have happened to you,” he stated quietly. You couldn’t argue with that. You were more by-the-book than he was. You would’ve never gone against a superior’s order. You would’ve respected it.

“Look, just go home. Talk to your wife. Get some help,” you said. “You missed your suspension hearing, but I spoke on your behalf. Told them it wasn’t your fault. The DEA backed me. Harper’s gonna reinstate you. Just come back as soon as you’re ready.”

Beau nodded slowly. Even if he didn’t say it, you could tell he was thankful for your efforts. “I can’t go home.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why? I’m sure Carla will understand. You need to talk to someone about this. Go to therapy – and not the alcoholic kind. Losing a partner is not something you get over quickly. You need people in your corner, including your wife.”

“You mean the wife that lets criminals out on the street?” Beau’s gaze was focused on the glass in his hands. The wrinkles on your brow deepened. “The guy that shot him… Carla’s his defense attorney. Was, at least. He was supposed to do time, but two months ago, she got him paroled.” With a dark chuckle, he emptied his glass.

“Beau…” You knew he had always struggled with Carla’s job, making you sometimes wonder about their dinner conversations at home. “It ain’t her fault more than it is yours. She’s just doing her job. You know that. You’ve been together for so long, you’d think you’re used to it by now.”

Beau scoffed a chuckle and gestured to the bartender for a refill. “I was a young cop back then. Wasn’t on the job as long. I didn’t know it would bother me so much. Still lived in that hopeful bubble, I guess.”

You smiled knowingly. “You mean the ‘I didn’t think I’d see as much shit and injustice as I do now’ bubble?”

He snickered softly. “Yep, that one. Just didn’t think it’d be this hard, you know?”

“I get it. I mean, me and Carla butt heads all the time over this stuff. But we do it in a competitive fun way and then get drunk,” you said with a light chuckle. “Guess it’s different when you’re married, though, huh?”

“Yeah, it is…” he sighed.

“Still, go home. Talk to her,” you encouraged but could see your words of wisdom fell on deaf ears. “By the way, the funeral’s on Saturday.”

He turned his gaze away from his glass and found your eyes. “You need any help with that?”

“Maybe you can give a eulogy. You knew him best. I think he would’ve really liked that,” you said with a warm smile. No matter your own feelings, you knew deep down Randy would’ve wanted you to forgive his partner.

“Yeah, I can do that. Anything you need, okay?” Beau clasped your hand that laid on the bar counter and squeezed reassuringly before dropping it again.

You smiled appreciatively and teased, “Maybe show up sober. Or at least close-to.”

Beau chuckled a little. “I promise.”

You stood up from your seat then and put some cash for your drink on the counter. “Alright, I’m heading home. You need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just gonna finish this drink, then I’ll head out, too,” he said.

“You sure? Don’t make me come back here,” you threatened playfully.

Beau laughed softly. “I won’t. Thanks for everything, Y/N. I mean it.”

You sent him a smile and gave his shoulder a squeeze on your way out. “You’re welcome. Get home safe, okay?”

However, Beau couldn’t keep any of his promises. He made it home after three more drinks and woke up on the front lawn of his house. Carla wasn’t happy when she found him in the morning as she brought Emily to school. But Beau couldn’t stop. Every time he closed his eyes, the tragic events flashed before him like a horror movie, witnessing Randy’s death in a never-ending loop. He kept seeing his partner get dragged away, heard the shot over and over again like a rain of bullets without a ceasefire.

The guilt was eating him alive. The guilt of getting his partner into this mess in the first place. Of leaving him behind. Of surviving and coming out alive when he didn’t deserve to.

So, Beau kept drinking to forget, even though he knew it was a futile endeavor. The memory would never fade, but at least it was blurred.

Your heavy breaths echoed through the small trailer. His mouth moved down the column of your throat, leaving a wet path of ravenous love bites in its wake.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned wantonly, his grip on your flesh punishing as he kept you pressed flush against him while he devoured you on the little dining table. Your ass sat on the wooden surface, your crossed ankles locked tightly behind his muscular back.

“God, you made me so happy today,” he growled against the shell of your ear, his rising length rubbing against your core through layers of denim.

“I can see that.” You giggled, your hands dangling in his hair. “There’s no need to hate him so much, you know?”

“Says you,” Beau quipped and unzipped your jeans, eagerly pulling them off you as his mouth sucked your clavicle purple and blue. “That slimy coyote always had it out for me.”

Beau removed your panties as well, tossing them behind his shoulder where they landed in the kitchen sink. “Whoops.” He grinned charmingly but was unstoppable, freeing his throbbing dick as he shoved his jeans and boxers barely over his ass. He didn’t bother to slip out of them all the way, too impatient to wait any longer to enter you.

“Still, I’m already yours. I’ve always been yours,” you said and braced yourself on his broad shoulders as one large hand on your back pulled you closer to the edge of the table. His other hand grabbed his cock, twisting his fist along the hard, long shaft a few times before he glided his cockhead through your slick folds.

“Not always.” With one harsh thrust, he pushed inside you, your tight walls fighting to make room for him and adjust to his stretch.

You gasped at the pleasurable burn that coursed through your body and ignited every sizzling nerve. He dropped his head to your shoulder, giving both of you some time to get used to each other. You could tell you were in for a wilder ride tonight. You always loved when he fucked you rough and hard. There was something raw and animalistic about the need in his hypnotizing green eyes.

Beau then claimed your lips with one fervent kiss, enough of a spark to cause a wildfire. He met your gaze, hands gingerly cupping your cheeks. “But I love that you’re mine now. And I’m sure as hell gonna make you mine tonight, darlin’.”

You crashed your lips against his, your kisses frenzied and untamed as his hips began to slam into you. His pounds into your pussy were relentless as you swallowed every inch of him. You gripped him tight, already feeling your first orgasm bloom. It accumulated like dark, violent storm clouds on the horizon, forecasting roaring thunder and heavy rainfall.

“Oh God! Fuck, baby!” You screamed as your climax tore through you like a hurricane, your cunt gushing on his cock and pulsing around him. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades and scratched down his back as you came undone.

Beau groaned into your ear, squeezing his eyes shut as he barely held on himself. But he didn’t let up and kept up his furious pace, not ready to stop yet. “Shit, keep doing that. You’re so fucking tight, Y/N,” he grunted against your skin, your sensitive flesh barely withstanding his ruthless pumps. “Want you to come again, darlin’.”

With his declaration, his hand slipped between your sweat-clad bodies. You came close to losing your mind as he thumbed furiously at your clit, the stars already starting to twinkle in front of your eyes. You could feel yourself get shoved to the edge once more, staring down the steep cliffs of white-hot ecstasy.

Your mind was consumed by need, his grip on your hips bruising as you exploded. You cried out raucously, your whole body quaking in his hold upon your eruption, the aftershocks so powerful they could cause cracks in your bones.

Beau spilled his seed deep inside of you, his body stuttering in rhythm with yours as your earthquake took him down with you. Hazy gazes met each other with lazy smiles as ragged breaths mingled.

“Fuck, that was good. I think that one might make it into our Top Ten.” Beau chuckled gravelly and placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“Hmm, not sure. We have a few greatest hits.” You giggled and bit down on your lower lip with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

Beau cupped your cheeks, thumbs caressing the heated and rosy skin as he lifted your gaze. “Anything.”

“Just between us, you’re the best lover I ever had,” you confessed with a wide grin. The corners of his mouth rose to match yours.

“Well, between us, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. You’re it, darlin’. You know that, right? You’re the love of my life,” Beau revealed, making you smile brighter than you ever had before.

“I’m not sure about the sex, but this moment, right here, is probably gonna make it into the Top Ten,” you said softly as a few tears stung your eyes.

“Good.” Beau smiled and pecked your forehead.

The buzzing of a phone shifted your attention. You recognized it as yours, and Beau was quick to retrieve it from your jeans pocket in the pile of clothes on the floor.

“It’s Jenny,” you told him before picking up. “Hello… What?! Uh-huh, we’ll be right there.”

Beau’s brow furrowed as he watched your features flicker through an array of emotions. “Bad news?”

“Uhm, honestly, I don’t know,” you said and swallowed some of your confusion down, gathering your thoughts. “Jenny said Diane just walked into the station and gave herself up. She is ready to confess but only wants to talk to us.”

“Us? As in us two?” Beau’s eyes narrowed. You nodded. “Well, that doesn’t sound fishy at all,” he commented wryly.

“Yup, I don’t like it.”

Chapter 8: Chemical Bonds – JUNE 26

A lot of revelations and foreboding in this one... 👀 Also, I just love having Beau say the word "coyotes" for some reason 😂

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Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser @spnfamily-j2

[breannastewart]

just some vets and their rookie, feat. jewell + nneka + nika 🥹

[hyakunana]

"Were you even listening? How many reports, Ikora? How many times did I tell you what I saw?"

[astrolionking]

Shoutout to Grandma Rosiepuff for gambling while her eldest grandson’s mental health was slowly declining bc he suddenly had to raise four little brothers on his own and that affected his brothers’ mental health.

[thevashta-narada]

A text I sent to my cousin who has never seen anything of les mis and does not know who grantaire and enjolras is but just knows I'm insane about it and them:

LIKE what do you MEAN he slept through the revolution only to awake to find enjolras is the only one left and to die holding his hand dying for a cause he didn't believe in because he believed in the man who led it akfjglslhsdlgjddvehkdkfdhdh

she said it kinda sounded like grantaire was in love with enjolras and she is very right about that

[antianakin]

Satine fans: She would DIE for her beliefs.

Me: She'd also send innocent people to JAIL for her beliefs, so that doesn't really mean much, does it?