#i really had to think for some of these 😅

[zepskies]

Merry Christmas Eve Eve!!!!!! 🥳❄️❄️

It's my favorite holiday for sure! And thanks for this little gift you've given me, Wayne. 😘❤️💚

Ooooh, snappy �� I've been diving into the books a bit and I do think they still have some tough things to talk out. The show's making it look way too easy lol

Ok more and more you're making me want to dive into the actual books!! It's true, the show really did shoulder through that pretty quickly lol.

But I loved all the kindergarten teasing and bantering between them. Such a fun moment! 🤍

Aw thank you!! 💜💜 I had a lot of fun creating the sibling banter moments between Russell and Colter, whether it was light and teasing or tense and angsty.

Read this fully in Bobby's voice. You totally nailed his cadence too! You're killing it here, Alex!! 👏👏

Omg thank youuu! I watched some episodes over again to try and get Bobby's voice right, even in this small moment. 🥰🥰

Ahaha knew it! Right on time too 😂 He really cares for her a lot after such a short amount of time already 🥹❤️

He really does. 🥹 I really tried my best to show that they do have this connection that's special (and worth not letting go of?), despite only knowing each other for a short time. 💕

You're a hopeless romantic. You wouldn't do this to me, right? Right, Alex???? 😭

They do share similarities 🤣🤣

Lmfaoo right?!! And not just because they're both actually "Justin."

(They could actually be bros, like what? 🤣)

I do love how resourceful he always is 🤓👏

See, that for me was actually the challenge narratively. Writing Colter and his intelligence believably, since of course, I'm not the brilliant author of the actual books. 😅😅 But I hope I faked it well enough in this story! lol

Like the reader, I'm not surprised but was hoping it wouldn't be this bad. Geez, Charlie, you call this getting your shit together? 🙄

Oh, Charlie's a ridiculous hot mess lmaoo. He's not doing himself any favors, even when he tries to "fix it."

Why? No, not the woods!! 😂 (Being lost in a forest is one of my worst nightmares lol)

Ya know, I totally get that. 😂 I don't live near forests, but I'm pretty sure Colter would have to come find my ass after 1 hour alone out there in the wilderness.

Russell's dark side is doing things to me... 🫠🫠

Ooof, why do I love a rugged, dangerous but protective man so much?

Figured something like this happened. I do feel for him, though. It's called addiction for a reason ❤️‍🩹 His argument for stealing was hilarious, however. Like, boo, really? Don't pretend you care about the Native Americans now. I think he knows his sister too well and figured this might work 😂

Oooh yeah. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 It's certainly not cut and dry.

Oh, you're totally valid for calling Charlie out like that lmaooo. Even the reader is calling him out on his BS. 😂 The way he tries to get "noble" about those Native American artifacts isn't fooling anybody.

You did it, too!!!! The "I love you" goodbye!! 🤣

Omggg you really caught me! 🤣🤣 What can I say, it's the perfect dramatic moment. 😏

Anything can happen from here, and I so hope you enjoy the rest of the ride down the cliffhanger!! 😘💕

Every Second Counts - Part 3

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: *Deep breaths* Are you ready? 😉

Word Count: 4.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Russell, perilous situations, violence, character death, and another (literal) cliffhanger…

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Part 3: "Timer Starts Now"

As he drove away from the museum, Colter could see it even more clearly. 

“You like her,” he said, giving his older brother a smile. 

Russell glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. 

“Focus on the road,” he said. 

“Just admit it. You like her,” Colter smirked. “And the fact that she called you for help isn’t a coincidence.”

Russell made a sound of annoyance and shook his head. At this point, he knew Colter wasn’t going to drop the subject.

“All right, we went out on one date,” Russell held up a finger. “It was fun, but we agreed that I’m just not relationship material.”

Colter sobered at that, at the wry tone of his voice. It sounded like Russell liked you even more than he was willing to admit.

“Do you have a timeline on that brewery?” Colter asked.

Russell chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I’m just a few dollars short on that one.”

He stared out the window for a while, but he eventually turned back to his brother.

“She called me because her brother’s a vet. Because I know what it’s like to deal with the assimilation process, coming back to civilian life. Trying to figure out where you belong, you know?” he said.

“You think you’ve assimilated?” Colter asked.

Russell shrugged. “Best I know how, anyway.”

“You can’t really call yourself a civilian though, can you?” Colter pointed out. 

Russell shot him a look. “Yeah well, neither can you, Colt.”

That created a kind of tension in the car. A call from Bobby, Colter’s analyst, mercifully broke the silence. He’d gotten some useful information on Eddie Mendez, the man Charlie was supposedly working with, or for.

“Well, he’s not the most upstanding citizen,” Bobby said. “He’s a cocaine dealer by trade. Other fun items on his rap sheet include illegal gun possession, theft, and domestic violence.”

“All right, thanks, Bobby,” Colter said.

Great, Russell shook his head. Just what had your brother gotten himself into?

They were getting closer to the bar, and it mentally brought him back to his date with you.

Okay, maybe he did like you. But he also respected and understood your reasons for cutting things short that night. Usually, he was okay with being in a new town every other week, the occasional one-night stands, the skeevy motel rooms and the fast food. It was all with a goal in mind, and that made the hustle easier.

He’d started to wonder though, what it would be like to set down roots somewhere. Doug made it work with his wife and still did his contract work, even if there were some major pros and cons to that too…

Russell was only broken out of his thoughts when he got a call himself, from Dory. He answered it and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey, D. What’s up?” he asked.

“Russell, something’s wrong,” she said. Her voice was panicked.

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “What? What happened?”

The more he listened, the more his eyes widened in shock. He looked to his brother.

“Colter, turn around. Now.”

Russell and Colter arrived back at your house, where Dory was parked out front. She came out of the safety of her car when she saw them. Russell got to her first. He laid a hand on her shoulder in the driveway.

“What happened?” he asked. 

She tearfully explained that she found your purse in the bushes, but your phone was missing. She had just picked up your call when it suddenly cut off. 

“But I heard her scream,” Dory said, with a stifled breath.

Russell’s mood darkened in response, and the longer he took in the scene. He looked over at Colter, who also wore a frown. 

The tracker examined your car and driveway first. Already he found signs of struggle. He noticed a couple pieces of dark glass on the pavement, and when he scrutinized his surroundings further, he picked your broken phone out of the grass. The screen was cracked beyond repair.

Next, he climbed the three short steps of the porch, up to the front door of the house. There were marks on the doorknob, likely scratched by a key. He spotted the Ring Camera next.

Good. He took it right off the wall.  

“Do you have her keys there?” he asked his sister. Dory handed them to him and he let himself in. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

The three of them entered your house and found it dark and empty. Colter switched the lights on and got to work, after going back to grab his laptop from the car.

Russell stayed with his sister on the couch, a supportive hand on her back. He tried to shove his anger and upset deeper below the surface.

Meanwhile, Colter had Bobby retrieve the data from the camera. Within a few minutes, he sent Colter a video file, which Colter then played on his laptop. The three of them watched you approach the door.

Someone with a man’s build grabbed you from behind, wearing dark clothes and a mask that obscured his face. You screamed and tried to fight, but the man dragged you away as you struggled.

Russell’s frown deepened as his body tensed with anger again, his jaw ticking as it clenched. And then came the self-loathing.

Rookie fucking move. Should’ve made sure she got home safe, he thought. Better yet, should’ve kept her with me.

Dory covered her trembling mouth and dissolved into tears. Russell tucked her against his side, rubbing her arm. Colter laid a hand on her shoulder as well, but he continued to analyze the footage. He couldn’t make out the attacker’s face with the mask he was wearing, but Colter saw a blue sedan in the background. It peeled off after you were hauled off-screen.  

“Why would they take her? What the hell is Charlie into?” Dory said. She sniffled and wiped at her face.

“To keep her quiet after she started digging into his disappearance, possibly. Or for leverage against him,” Colter said, leveling her with honesty. “Someone doesn’t want us to find Charlie. I’m betting it’s whoever he’s working for.”

He thought it was safer if he didn’t tell his sister exactly who Charlie’s employer was.  

Dory shook her head in worry. “We need to call the police.”

Colter shared a grim look with his brother. He knew Russell understood the score here. 

“If we get the police involved, it’s at least a 50% chance that whoever has her and Charlie…will kill both of them,” Colter said. Dory sucked in a trembling breath. 

“Our best bet is to keep digging,” Colter said.

“Let’s go,” Russell said, nodding at him. He stood, parting from his sister with a hand squeezing her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Dory asked. She got up to her feet along with her brothers.

“Howley’s. It’s our only lead on Charlie’s employer,” Colter replied. 

“Okay, but wait—” Dory reached out for Russell’s arm. It was a reflex as she tried to wrap her mind around all of this. 

Russell grasped her shoulders gently enough, but he made sure she saw the sense of urgency in his eyes.

“We don’t have time,” he said. “From here on out, every second counts.” 

After a beat, Dory nodded in acceptance. She let go of his jacket. 

“Okay, keep me updated.”

“Will do,” he said, and he swiftly followed Colter out the door.

The brothers drove in silence to the bar. Colter noted his brother’s tension, and the grim set to his jaw. 

“Hey,” Colter said, earning Russell’s attention. Colter gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her. We’ll find both of them.”

Russell exhaled. “Yeah.”  

Oh, he knew he’d find you eventually, and your brother. He just didn’t want to think about how he might find you.

Once they got back to Howley’s, they started by questioning the bartender about Eddie Mendez. 

“He’s not here. But that’s a couple of his friends over there,” the bartender said. He pointed them in the direction of a couple of guys drinking near the back. Three of them were sitting at a table playing cards. 

Russell recognized two of them. One was the same guy who made the mistake of hassling you by the pool table. He’d gotten a bloody nose for his trouble. Russell smirked at the memory. 

“Pete, make a fucking move already,” said one of the guy’s buddies.

Russell caught it as he and Colter approached them. This time, Pete seemed at least somewhat sober, even with his second beer in hand. Another bottle sat empty beside his arm.

“Hey, fellas,” Russell greeted the table. “Little Blackjack, little booze. Looks like a good night you’re having.”

“Do I know you?” Pete asked. His face showed a spark of recognition when he took in Russell. 

“Well, you’re about to. We’re looking for one of your friends, Eddie,” he replied. 

Pete set his beer down on the table. Predictably, he crossed his arms and closed up.

“I don’t know no Eddie.”

Russell resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I realize it’s hard for you, but don’t be dumb. Eddie Mendez,” he pressed. 

Pete glanced at his friends, then he stood from the table, drawing himself to his full height. He was a bit bigger than Russell, but a beer gut wasn’t everything.  

Russell seized up the man in front of him with an almost lazy grin. By contrast, his eyes were sharp, betraying his true thoughts. 

“Now remember. Whatever you start, I’m gonna damn well finish,” he said. 

That sure ignited Pete’s memory. He seemed to be remembering your smaller fist nearly breaking his nose. His face fell with an angry frown. Russell smirked.

Colter laid a warning hand on his brother’s arm.

“We’re not looking for trouble. We’re just trying to find someone Eddie might know. Charlie,” Colter said. “Do you know him?”

“No, I don’t,” Pete claimed.  

“Like you didn’t know Eddie?” Colter replied, raising a brow. “Where can we find him?”

“Now you are looking for trouble,” Pete spat. “Fuck off, Timberlake.”

Just then, Colter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw a text from Dory, asking for an update. He ignored the message for now and put his phone away.

Hearing a commotion, he quickly looked up in time to realize that Russell had wrangled Pete into a stronghold with his arm behind his back and had slammed him onto the table. Drinks and bottles rattled and spilled; playing cards fell to the floor. Pete’s friends got up with angry, threatening gaits.

“I think you can point us in the right direction before I break this meaty arm of yours. How about that?” Russell said. 

“Hey! No fighting!” the bartender called from the front. “Take that shit outside.”

Colter internally sighed, but he’d have to roll with this, even though this wasn’t how he’d wanted to play it. 

“I wouldn’t test him,” Colter advised. “That’s gonna be a bad break. You got good health insurance, Pete? You’ll probably need surgery, expensive bills, a little physical therapy, a few months of recovery time.”

Pete seemed to weigh Colter’s logic, albeit with an angry huff. He waved off his friends and caught his breath while pinned against the table. 

“I can’t talk to you,” he said. “I’ll get myself killed.”

“I’d worry more about your odds right now, Pete,” Russell said. He tightened his twisted hold on the man’s arm, earning a strangled sound of pain. 

Colter weighed the options here in record time, and he came to a decision. He grasped Russell’s arm firmly.

“Let him go,” he said.  

Russell gave him a look of disbelief. “Colt?”

Colter implored him with his eyes. Trust me.

After a few more seconds, Russell’s lips pursed, but he let the guy go. 

“Ah, fuck,” Pete muttered. After he was able to straighten up, he rubbed his aching arm and shot them both a red-faced glare. 

Colter steered his brother out of the bar before a real fight could break out. He knew it’d become a bloody mess, and they didn’t have time for a night stay in a county jail cell this time.  

“You better have a damn plan,” Russell whispered, as they neared the front doors of the bar.

“You know I do,” Colter replied.

They later sat in his truck while it was still turned off. Just waiting in silence.

A few minutes went by before the back doors of the bar opened to Pete and his gaggle of delinquent friends. As Colter suspected, one of them made a call. It lasted no more than a couple of minutes. Then, they piled into Pete’s car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Colter started up his own car, and he followed them.

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement. 

“No…” 

That voice was all too familiar. 

The bag was finally ripped off your head, the edge of it catching in your frizzy hair. You blinked wearily at the florescent lights above, and you wiped at your tears and smudged mascara. Your breath left your lungs when you saw your brother, Charlie. 

He was tied to a chair, shirtless and shoeless, beaten and bloody. Some parts of his skin even looked burned. His jeans remained, at least. But his face was hard to look at. His left eye was swollen, his lip split, his cheek cut and bloody. Both his eyes were red-rimmed, and he was sweaty and dirty, as if they’d been keeping him down here like an animal. He looked thinner too.

He stared back at you in dismay, your name falling from his lips.

You tried to scramble over to him, but someone grabbed you by the hair and yanked you back. You cried out in pain.

“Eddie stop! Don’t hurt her!” he shouted. He drew enough strength to pull at his restraints. Your hands reached back on reflex to grasp at the hand holding your hair. 

“No, you did this,” Eddie said. He clicked the safety off his handgun and pointed the barrel at your head, right between the eyes. You gasped and froze where you sat. 

“You couldn’t make it easy, huh? Well now, I’m making it real simple for you,” he continued. “Even more simple, now that we cut out the middleman.”

Eddie gestured to what looked like a woven potato sack laid behind Charlie’s chair, but really, that was just part of it. As your eyes scanned over, you saw the narrow shoulders of a man with a familiar dark blue blazer. It was stained red with a bloody hole carved through the back. Your breath stilled in your lungs.

Eddie glanced over at you, his lips curving. He walked over to the dead body, turned it over with his boot, and dragged off the potato sack to reveal the lifeless blue eyes of Dr. Feinman.

Your eyes widened.

You let out a blood-curdling scream that startled a pigeon out of the warehouse, from where it had been perching on a high support ledge. You leaned back on your bound hands, but you could go no further as one of Eddie’s men grabbed your shoulder, pinning you on the ground. His annoyed face told you to shut the fuck up.

Charlie grimaced and turned his face from the sight of the body. Both shame and hate filled his eyes when Eddie bent down to face him.

“Tell me where you hid the goddamn weapons,” he demanded.

Your lips trembled as new tears brimmed over and streamed down your cheeks. You’d suspected the truth, but it was different from being faced with the reality. Charlie was the one who stole from the museum. He’d likely been doing a lot worse for the past few months. And somehow, Feinman had gotten in between. He’d also paid the price.

Your brother saw your disappointment, and he accepted it. But lacking an answer, Eddie pistol whipped you in the face, earning a pained cry from you as you fell back onto the ground. You had to blink the stars out of your eyes.

After his shock wore off, Charlie’s face hardened with fury.

“Oh, don’t give me that fucking face,” Eddie said. He grabbed you by the back of the neck, startling another sharp breath from you. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, what I did to you’ll be child’s play, compared to what I’m gonna do to her. And you’re going to watch.”

Against your will, tears filled your eyes while you stared at your brother. You were terrified, and Charlie knew it. He was scared too, but he also knew then what he had to do.

“I buried them,” he admitted. 

“You buried them?” Eddie repeated. He brushed back his dark hair with the same hand that held his gun. “Ain’t that ironic. All right, where did you bury them?”

“In the national forest, less than an hour out,” Charlie replied. “But you won’t find it without me.” 

Eddie shook his head on a sigh. “Of fucking course.”

He gestured to his men waiting nearby. He wordlessly gave them the order to untie your brother. 

“All right, Charlie. Let’s go for a drive,” he said, and gave you a sleazy smile. “You too, sweetheart.”

He hauled you up onto your feet and kept you close to him, with a hand like a vice around your arm. God, you hated a sweethearting man.

You held your breath. You could only pray that Dory had noticed you were missing…and that Russell and Colter could find you before it was too late.

Please…

It was still dark out, but the sky was beginning to lighten when Colter pulled to the side of the road. The car they followed had stopped in front of a warehouse near an industrial downtown area. Colter spotted the blue sedan from the Ring Camera footage. It was parked out front. 

With a shared nod of understanding, Colter and Russell climbed out of the truck and took the time to arm themselves properly before scoping out the warehouse.

“What does a drug cartel want with museum artifacts?” Russell remarked as they were gearing up. “That’s still not adding up for me.”

“It is odd, but maybe the idea came from Charlie,” Colter said. “He had access. Maybe he saw it as a way to buy their trust.”

“Okay, then what went wrong? Why’d they take her?” Russell replied. “I don’t know, man. Something feels off here.”

Colter nodded in agreement. “We don’t have all the pieces yet.”

But they were about to get them. They moved closer to the warehouse, with Russell heading towards a side door and Colter going around the back. They saw a few men crowded around a TV in the corner of the warehouse. Behind them were crates upon crates of what surely was product. Probably tens of thousands worth of coke.

Jesus, Russell thought. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but still. This was a serious operation.

Colter caught sight of a lone chair under a bright corner of the room. It was stained with sweat and blood, and some cut ropes hung from the seat. He alerted Russell to the scene with a subtle gesture of his raised gun. Russell’s face turned grim. He nodded minimally, then pointed with his eyes at the group of unsuspecting men. The brothers drew in closer.

Russell fired a shot directly into the TV screen, making it crash onto the ground. The men startled like rats, but they soon faced Russell and Colter’s guns. When one of them reached for the gun tucked in their pants, Colter aimed directly at him.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Colter warned. 

“Where’s Charlie?” Russell demanded. “And his sister.”

He aimed his .45 caliber M1911 at their friend Pete, who had Cheeto stains on his shirt. 

“How about you, Pete. You finally wanna share with the class, before I blow your fucking face off?!” Russell shouted. 

The depths of his voice reverberated widely in the warehouse. It set the tone for things to come, if he didn’t get some cooperation.

Pete shifted on his feet, betraying his nerves. His forehead was starting to sweat too. 

“They’re not here,” he admitted. “They left a while ago.”

Russell flexed his finger over the trigger of his gun. 

“Tell me where,” he said.

Eddie wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy kind of guy. He kicked his boot against a tree while leaning against it.

“Fucking rock in my shoe,” he muttered angrily.

He was getting more and more frustrated with the uneven terrain (and the mosquitos) the longer the five of you trekked onwards: including you, Charlie, Eddie, and two of his men, Rick and Kevin. Both of them had guns trained on your back and Charlie’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said quietly to you.

You shook your head. Disappointment didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling as you looked at him, but at least they’d given him a shirt to cover his beaten torso. His face wasn't so lucky.

He righted you when you struggled on the gravel and loose dirt in your ankle boots. Your hands were still tied together too.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked, as you caught your breath. 

“I needed the money,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t an excuse. “I was his bodyguard.”

“He’s a drug dealer,” you snapped. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“He was my dealer,” he admitted, though his gaze was heavy. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, but…a few weeks after I left rehab, I slipped. I never really did quit. Just got better at hiding it.” 

You let out a sharp breath, and tried to blink past your tears. Another disappointment, another heartbreak for the books.

“But when he offered me a job to pay off what I owed, he wanted insurance that I’d stick around. To prove myself,” Charlie explained. “He came up with the idea to rob the museum.”

“Why was Dr. Feinman involved? Did he find out?” you asked.

Charlie nodded with a sigh. “He caught me the first time I tried to steal the artifacts. I…I lied. Told him we planned to sell them. So instead of turning me in, he wanted to be cut into the deal.”

“What? Why?” you said. Your former boss was many things—a stuffy, self-important man chief among them—but you’d never taken him for a thief.

Charlie gave you a wry look. “Owed his second wife up to his eyeballs. Alimony’s a real bitch.”

You shook your head. That explained why Charlie hadn’t yet been a suspect in the theft. Feinman had probably helped cover Charlie’s tracks. But whatever shortcomings Feinman had, he hadn’t deserved to die like that. A shudder went through your body, remembering his lifeless eyes. You breathed out slowly and tried to rid yourself of the nightmarish image. You managed to push past that to ask your next question.

“And who chose the Native American weapons?”

Charlie’s lips pursed. He glanced over his shoulder. “He did. Thought they looked cool.”

Eddie smirked and waved his gun at him, spurring you both onward. Charlie kept walking and turned his attention back to you. 

“The way I figured it, the museum shouldn’t have them anyway.” 

Your lips pursed at that. You sort of saw his point there, however convoluted his justification, but putting those artifacts in the hands of a drug dealer was even worse.

“And this is so much better for them,” you said pointedly. 

“That’s why I couldn’t go through with it. Tried to get out of the whole damn mess,” he said. “I know what you would’ve said to me. And I knew if I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes.”

Your tears welled up again, when you saw the sincerity of his gaze.

“Okay, this touching little scene is making my balls itch,” Eddie said. He grabbed Charlie’s shoulder and turned him around. “Where the fuck are we going? If you’re trying to pull something smartass here, Charlie, I promise you, you’re gonna regret it.”

He cocked the safety back on his gun and pointed it at Charlie’s chest. Charlie raised slow, placating hands.

“It’s just a little further,” he promised. 

“If you’re giving me the runaround—” Eddie started.

“Then what? Without me, you’ll never find it,” Charlie barked back. 

Eddie’s face tightened, and he pointed the gun at you instead. You sucked in a breath.

Charlie quickly held up his bound hands again in surrender. After a beat of tension, he pointed up when he heard rushing water. 

“Hear that?” he said. “I buried it on a cliff near a waterfall. We’re getting close.”

Another stretch of silence filled the clearing. 

Eddie weighed Charlie’s words. When he was mollified enough, he lowered his gun away from you. At his command, Rick and Kevin kept you and your brother moving. 

Charlie glanced to his right side. He realized that you all were walking near the edge of a steep hill that careened downward. Taking in a breath to center himself, he turned to you.

“I love you, you know that?” he whispered.

Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but you found the look in his eyes suspicious. Like he was saying goodbye. 

That was when he swiftly turned. He snapped the heel of his hand into Kevin's throat and grabbed his gun while he was choking. Charlie shot him in the chest, then he clipped Rick in the shoulder. 

Just as Eddie began to raise his own weapon, Charlie met your look of shock with his own determination. 

He pushed you down the hill.

AN: I know, I know. Two cliffhangers in a row is cruel, but I promise we're getting to even more fun action and cathartic moments in Part 4! 😘

Next Time:

Russell called your name as he searched through the dense trees. Sunlight was beginning to filter through their leaves in dappled color on the trail. It gave him a better view ahead.

He stopped short when he saw a splatter of blood on the ground, painting the dirt and some dead leaves. A well of unease rose in his gut.

He headed toward the sound of running water, and he soon found another cliff. Just beyond it was a waterfall, and river below. Seeing no signs of life, he pulled back and continued to call your name, and all the while, pushing down his worry.

“Russell?!”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 4

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[creatingblackcharacters]

Hello! Sending it here again:

I play an mmo game which recently had a big character model update, it's still not perfect but we're getting there! They're sharing behind the scenes work on curly hairstyles, for example, which just... weren't there for the longest time. Oh the beauty of scandinavian white-centering... (sarcasm)

anyway, I'm from eastern-central Europe, I play on eastern Europe servers. Seeing someone with a character that's not white is... pretty rare, honestly. So rare that when I do see someone using a character that's clearly meant to be a POC, they're very often roleplaying. Recently I saw a player whom I know for a fact is white, as I know them irl (we're not friends, don't even talk much but I know what they look like) and their character used to be white too before the big update.

So my question is, does that count as digital blackface, and what even is the consensus on digital blackface as a whole? I used to be in a facebook group about unlearning racism (used to because it got deleted after some admin drama, I think? If anyone knows a similar group, let me know please) and there, most Black members agreed that if someone is white, they shouldn't be using Black emojis for example (the topic of mmos never came up, I think). I don't remember the exact reasoning but I think it was the same explanation as actual blackface. But then there were some Black people saying it's going too far and we should be focusing on "actual issues" instead. I know that's to be expected, I'm trans and I know all too well that a community is not a monolith. But seeing the player reminded me that I don't actually know that much about it, and I've seen you educate people before. I hope it's okay that I'm asking you, I'd love to do some further research as well though (I love learning things, I just also don't yet trust myself to find actually good sources).

I hope this ask makes sense, english is not my first language and all. So if I wrote something wrong, please assume I meant well, as I still don't know how to word things properly in english sometimes.

Thank you for doing what you do, btw. I really appreciate having someone compile everything like you do here, it's one of my favorite creative blogs on here.

Okay so I sat on this one for a minute to make sure my answer wouldn't change.

1) there is no one consensus. White people don't agree on everything, neither do we 😅. This would just be my opinion.

2) I definitely don't think you should be using Black emojis if you're a white person, no. That's overt Blackfacing. DEFINITELY don't pretend to be Black if you aren't!!

3) for me, I think designing your characters as Black for online play can be okay in theory, as long as you're coming at it respectfully. Like, I'd have to trust that you actually wanted to learn how to play as someone that didn't look like you, that you actually cared about Black character features and presence in games as a whole. Especially on a game where you get to design the character, versus when you're forced to play as a Black person. It's hard to trust the intentions of white people online, especially when far more often than not the good intent is just... Not there 😅. So for me, if someone asks you why you designed your character, be ready to answer, answer truthfully and answer well! If you're playing as a Black character design because "big tough guy" or "big dommy mommy" yeah you're just digital Blackfacing amongst other racist issues. But if you actually have good intent, and are willing to learn, then you'll be able to stand on that when confronted.

And again- that's just my opinion! I would listen to other voices on it as well.

[parkitrighthere]

Hey , will we get an update on AOP ? If not you mentioned we could get a sneak peak . Could we get that ?

Heyyy sweet anon!! How’s it going?? I hope you’re having the BEST day ever and soaking in all the Christmas magic!! I’m so sorry I didn’t check my inbox earlier, and well… rest is history, right? But hey, better late than never, right?? Sooo, here’s a little sneak peek for you, I hope you like it!

Okay, quick heads up:

This is the beginning of chapter 3. I mean, it’s not super exciting or anything yet (shocker, right?), but I promise it’ll do for now. I’m still working on the chapter, so cut me some slack. Also, I’ve realized I have a ridiculous amount of love for Kenji right now… like, why did I just say that out loud? 🤷‍♀️ Oh well, I did. #KenjiIsLife

So, here’s a little snippet (under the cut, obviously because suspense and all that jazz). Please try your best to like it, even though my dialogue game is still under construction. I swear, I’m leveling up my writing skills (slowly but surely). 😅 And seriously, tell me what you think, I’m dying to know!

And... uh, forgive me? Or maybe not? But, like, please? 🙈

Alright, here it goes—enjoy!

(Jimin have nothing to do with it. I merely posted him to distract you from all the mess I've posted)

The darkness wrapped the sky in its velvet shroud, a blend of endless black and the faint glow of stars. The moon hung high, heavy and luminous, as if holding up the weight of the heavens. Its light spilled through the open window, brushing across the room in silvery streaks, making the shadows dance on the walls. The cold air slipped in, sharp and biting, rushing past your face. You inhaled deeply, your chest rising as the chill pricked your skin.

It was already midnight, and sleeping wasn't an option. Your fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill, as you leaned forward, staring into the stillness of the night. The coolness of the wood beneath your palm punished you, but your mind was far away, caught in a storm you couldn’t quite name

 You weren’t crying—there were no tears left to shed. You weren’t angry either. The fiery edge of rage had dulled long ago, leaving behind an ache too stubborn to fade.

You exhaled sharply, your breath mingling within the cold air. It wasn’t sadness—not anymore. You’d come to terms with it after talking to Elizabeth.

Your shoulders slumped, and you rubbed at your temples, trying to massage away the tension. It wasn’t about you. It never had been. Your reflection in the window—dull eyes and a tired face—stared back, and you nodded at it, a soft chuckle skipping past your lips. Acceptance wasn’t a choice; it was the only option left.

 You thought enough about it, and one thing you grew certain of was that it was, and never would be, about you. You were ready to accept the bond—it was always about him. You knew you couldn’t keep trying alone. You tilted your head back, the moonlight catching the wet shine in your eyes, though no tears fell. It wasn’t how it worked. It couldn’t be.

 Slowly, you pulled back from the window, the cold air chasing after you. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you let out a shaky breath. You wouldn’t beg—not for him, not for love. No.

You couldn’t deny it, not to yourself at least—you wanted to try. More than anything. Your chest ached with the thought, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as if clutching at the hope you refused to voice. You didn’t know much about him, not really, except one undeniable truth: he was intense, passionate, extreme. And so were his emotions—wild, consuming, and impossibly bright. But he hid them, masked them behind a wall so impenetrable that even you, his mate, couldn’t see through it.

Your hands trembled as you ran them through your hair, the strands tangling between your fingers. The memory of his dark, shimmering boba eyes flashed in your mind. You’d imagined them so many nights—staring at you, full of the love and affection you so desperately wanted. No, deserved. Didn’t you? And even if you didn’t, a part of you insisted he should give it anyway. Because weren’t you his mate? Your lips pressed into a thin line, and your jaw clenched as bitterness bubbled in your chest.

You had the right to him, didn’t you? But fate, cruel and merciless as it always was, had turned your bond into a twisted game. Or maybe it wasn’t fate at all. Maybe it was him—your mate, the one who could ignite every nerve in your body with a single glance but chose instead to keep his distance.

Your shoulders sagged, and you leaned back against the wall, letting the cold surface seep through your dress. You didn’t know why he kept you at arm’s length, why his indifference cut so deep. A sharp breath escaped your lips, your chest tightening. Did you even want to know? That was the question that kept you awake at night, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

The air felt heavier now, as you straightened, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. You didn’t know the reason behind his indifference. But did you want to? That was a big question now. You wouldn’t beg. Not for a man’s attention, not for his love. You might crave him—God, you craved him with every fiber of your being. His presence, his touch, the way his voice seemed to echo in your mind long after he’d spoken. But you would cut yourself open before you begged.

You were just a low-ranking werewolf, a speck compared to the royal Lycan king. But rank didn’t matter now, not to you. You would not grovel—not for him or anyone. If he wanted you, he’d have to fight for you, just as fiercely as you’d once wanted to fight for him. And it wasn’t necessarily that bad here; at least you were being fed.

There was no point in thinking about it now.  As tired as your mind was, your body was weirdly energetic, yet you felt paradoxically weak—the lack of training and shifting in weeks was finally getting to you.

Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the too-familiar walls and furniture. Boredom surged like a wildfire, quick and consuming. You hated this place—its silence, its stillness. But if someone were to ask what you hated most, the answer came easily, almost reflexively. Him. Your mate. Jeon Jungkook.

You huffed, shaking your head as if trying to dislodge the thought. You stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, your arms hanging limply at your sides. Your chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. The night wrapped around you like a second skin, colder than it should’ve been. You rubbed your arms absentmindedly, even though you felt no sense of cold. There was something strange in the air tonight, though. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It clung to you, just out of reach, like a whisper you couldn’t fully hear.

You, once again, reached to the window, your fingertips brushing the edge of the curtain. The cold glass pressed against your palm as you stared out at the still, dark world. A frown tugged at your lips. It wasn’t delight you were feeling—not even close. It wasn’t contentment either. No, this was different, deeper.

Fulfillment. As if something had shifted back into place, something you hadn’t realized was missing.

But with it came fear. A cold, tearing fear that settled in your chest and refused to let go. Your hand pressed over your heart, feeling its unsteady rhythm thrum beneath your skin. Your throat tightened, and your eyes flicked toward the moonlit horizon, searching for something you couldn’t name.

You turned away from the window, pacing the room with quick, uneven steps. Your fingers ran through your hair, tugging at the strands as if the slight pain would ground you. It didn’t.

You paused mid-step, staring at your hands as they trembled. Was it the bond? You didn’t know, but your gut screamed that it was. Everything—the restlessness, the strange sense of completion, the fear—it all traced back to him.

You glanced out the window at the night sky—heavenly dark and ethereally calm—and a small smile tugged at your lips, unbidden. The moon was truly magnificent tonight; you thought nothing could ever match the quiet beauty of nature—especially the moon.

You drew in a long, deep breath, holding it in your chest before letting it out slowly. The weight against your ribs loosened, if only a little. Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers curling and uncurling as you bit your bottom lip in thought.

Without a second thought, you turned on your heel, your movements dogged but not rushed. You slipped out of your quarters and into the dimly lit hallway, pausing for a moment to glance around.

Where to go?

You tilted your head, brows knitting together as the question settled in your mind. You didn’t have an answer, you merely didn't want to sit in your quarters. With a small nod to yourself.

The guards stationed along the walls watched you with wary eyes, their expressions unreadable. You didn’t pay them any mind, your focus elsewhere. The coolness of the air pressed against your skin, seeping through your clothes like icy fingers. A shiver ran down your spine, but instead of recoiling, you welcomed it.

Winter was near. The thought sent a flicker of warmth through you, chasing away some of the cold. You’d always loved winter, the way the world transformed under a blanket of snow, quiet and pristine. In just a month, the first snowfall would come, covering everything in a soft, white hush.

A smile broke across your face, wide and genuine. Your fingers brushed against your arms as you imagined the crunch of snow beneath bare feet, or the feel of it against your fur in wolf form. She loved winter too.

And then there was the blue moon. Only three weeks away, a grand celebration waiting on the horizon. The thought made your chest swell with anticipation, and a quiet giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Your steps quickened, your feet almost skipping as you moved through the halls. You practically bounced on your toes, the cold air swirling around you but unable to dampen your mood. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, something sparked inside you—something bright, something hopeful.

But happiness had always been a fleeting guest in your life, and tonight proved no exception. Your steps faltered, the soft rhythm of your bare feet on the cold floor coming to an abrupt halt. The smile that had warmed your lips vanished, leaving them pressed into a thin line as Jungkook’s voice tore through the stillness of the still night.

It was sharp, loud, booming even. The sound echoed around you, bouncing off the walls. Without realizing it, you had wandered near his quarters. Your chest tightened as frustration bubbled beneath your skin. No matter how much you tried, how much you willed yourself to stay away, you always found yourself here—drawn to him like a moth to flame. You hated it. You hated him.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. His voice rang out again, louder this time, filled with venom and a simmering rage that made your stomach churn.

“I’m not obligated to tell you anything. Anything.”

Your body flinched involuntarily at the sound, as if the force of his anger had reached out and struck you. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was instinct—your body recoiling from the raw, unfiltered aggression in his tone.

You turned your head slightly, your gaze shifting to the floor. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. For a moment, you considered walking away, your feet itching to retreat. But you stayed rooted to the spot.

He was angry.

He was yelling.

But why? At who?

The questions spun relentlessly in your mind, but the answers evaded you. Your curiosity, though unwelcome, began clawing at your chest, demanding to be fed. A small voice whispered in the back of your head, urging you to move closer, to press your ear to the door and unravel the tension vibrating through the walls.

You shook your head, swallowing hard, forcing your feet to stay planted. Jungkook had made many things painfully clear on your first day here—one of them being that you were not to involve yourself in pack matters unless explicitly asked. His rules were ironclad, just like the wall he had built between the two of you.

Fine. If he didn’t respect or care for you, you wouldn’t care for him—or his pack. You took a slow, deliberate step forward, ready to walk past his quarters without so much as a glance.

But then you heard it.

Her voice.

Elizabeth.

The sound froze you mid-step, your body stiffening as if an invisible force had gripped you by the shoulders. She was in there, her voice carrying through the closed door—tenacious, loud, yet gentle. She was asking him something, and though his voice was lower now, you could still hear the anger simmering in every clipped word he threw back at her.

Your stomach twisted, curiosity roaring to life and twisting into something darker. Jealousy.

The fire of it ignited low in your chest, spreading quickly, burning hotter with every second you stood there. What were they talking about? Why was she here, in his quarters, this late? The questions pushed everything else from your mind, leaving only a sharp, all-consuming need to know.

Your jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as your breath came out shakier than you wanted to admit. Your chest heaved as you stared at the door, as if willing it to give up its secrets. The thought of her—of them—on the other side of it sent a cold, bitter shiver down your spine. You clenched your teeth harder, your body trembling with an emotion you didn’t want to name.

Still, your feet remained rooted, caught between storming forward and fleeing altogether. You told yourself you didn’t care, that whatever was happening in that room didn’t matter to you. But the fire raging inside you screamed otherwise.

"Jungkook, you can’t just run away from all you’ve done!" Elizabeth’s voice cut through the heavy, pregnant silence like a blade, shrill and demanding. Each word was laced with venom, her tone rising an octave with every syllable. "It’ll be the death of us all. Do you even have any idea what would happen if Jimin found out what you’ve done? Do you know how many vamp—"

“Leave!!”

Jungkook’s voice thundered through the air, slamming into you like a physical force. The raw power in his Alpha command made your breath hitch, your chest tightening painfully as if an unseen hand had wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you to bare it.

Your knees buckled slightly, your hand shooting out to the cold wall beside you to steady yourself. The sheer authority in his tone wasn’t just heard—it was felt, reverberating through your body, making your heart stutter and your skin break out in goosebumps.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your wide eyes staring blankly ahead as the weight of his words settled over you. But then something stirred deep within you.

Your wolf.

You hadn't felt her in days.

It was a faint ripple at first, a flicker of energy in the pit of your stomach. But it grew quickly, spreading like a wildfire through your veins. She was there—fully present in a way she hadn’t been in years. You could feel her strength, her defiance, her barely restrained anger.

Why was she angry?

It took you a moment to realize that you were feeling Jungkook’s emotions. It was the first time you had ever experienced them. His feelings were so intense that it was becoming hard to breathe. It felt as if a fire was burning in the centre of your chest.

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, and your fingers gripped the wall as you tried to steady your racing heart. The connection was overwhelming, a storm of emotions flooding your senses: pride, fury, longing—all of it tangled together.

Oh! Moon goddess, it was overwhelming

Your head turned slightly, your gaze narrowing on the closed door as Elizabeth’s voice was abruptly silenced. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, and yet... you couldn’t move.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Maybe for Elizabeth to storm out, her face twisted with fury. Maybe for Jungkook to step into the hallway, his presence as commanding as his voice.

Or maybe, you were waiting for yourself—to decide whether you would stay or walk away, pretending none of this had ever happened.

"Move, Bee."

The whisper of your wolf echoed faintly in your mind, a nudge that left no room for argument. Before you could even process her words, your legs carried you away from the shadows where you stood rooted. Your feet moved on instinct, silent against the cold marble floor as you melted into the darkness of the hallway, just out of sight.

The door to Jungkook’s bedroom creaked open, and Elizabeth stepped out.

You stilled, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze locked on her. She looked… dreadful. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. But it was her eyes that unsettled you most—they were wide, almost frantic, as if she’d seen something that had shaken her to her very core.

What is wrong?

Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching to reach out and grab her, demand answers to the storm of questions swirling in your mind. But before you could act, she stormed off, her hurried footsteps fading into the distance.

The silence that followed was deafening, and your chest ached with your unanswered questions.

You kept walking and without realizing it, you were outside. The icy wind bit at your skin, and your bare feet pressed into the damp grass of the royal garden. The once soothing serenity of the night now felt oppressive.

The soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of the night animals did little to calm the unease gnawing at you. The cold that had earlier been invigorating now seemed to seep into your very bones, chilling you from the inside out.

Your steps faltered, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, your fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeves as your mind raced.

What were they talking about?

Your thoughts spiralled, wild and rigid. The memory of Jungkook’s loud voice echoed in your head, and Elizabeth’s pale, distraught face lingered in your mind.

What was she doing in his room in the middle of the night?

"Bee, you’re thinking way too much," your wolf interjected with a bored sigh.

You couldn’t help the dry chuckle that escaped your lips, your breath fogging in the crisp night air.

'Thinking too much? That’s rich coming from you,' you muttered under your breath, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Your wolf hummed in response, unbothered, as if this entire situation didn’t concern her in the slightest. She had made her grand reappearance only to take over your body, push you into the cold night, and now, she was defending him.

"Of course, you’d side with him," you said, shaking your head with a humourless smile. You paced aimlessly through the garden, your fingers brushing against the brittle leaves of the hedges as you walked.

"I’m not defending anyone, Bee. I only said you’re thinking too much," your wolf’s voice came again, calm and infuriatingly smug.

You huffed, dragging your hands through your hair in exasperation as you continued pacing. The cool breeze tugged at the strands, but it didn’t calm you—it only added to the storm brewing in your chest.

"You’ve said enough," you muttered aloud, a bitter chuckle slipping past your lips as you shook your head.

"Aww, Bee trying to be sassy? That’s new… and dumb," she quipped, her tone laced with amusement.

You froze mid-step, your jaw tightening as irritation rippled through you. Balling your fists, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your eyes narrowing at the empty garden ahead of you as if you could glare at her.

"I’m curious," you snapped, your voice low and laced with frustration.

"And jealous," she added with a shrug you could practically feel, the smugness in her tone igniting the fire in your chest.

You clenched your teeth, your fingers twitching at your sides as you turned on your heel and paced again. Was she always this difficult? you wondered, your steps now faster, heavier, as if walking harder would somehow silence her.

"You’re being impossible," you muttered, your voice clipped.

"Well… I’m trying," she retorted, her smirk audible in your mind.

You let out a low growl, a sound of pure frustration as you stopped in your tracks and threw your hands in the air. The cold bit at your skin, and the grass beneath your feet squished as you shifted your weight, trying to ground yourself.

"Why do you always do this?" you hissed through gritted teeth, pacing again, your movements acute and agitated.

Your wolf merely hummed, her silence somehow louder than her teasing had been. It was like she was sitting back, watching the chaos unfold, amused by your every reaction.

You pressed your palm to your forehead, your other hand on your hip, and let out a shaky breath. The night around you was still, the garden eerily quiet except for the rustle of leaves and your own unsteady breaths.

"Aren’t you curi—" you started, your voice harsh, ready to lash out at your wolf and her endless sass.

But the words died on your tongue when a hand landed on your shoulder, firm yet not harsh. The touch yanked you out of your spiralling thoughts, and for a moment, the world tilted. Your breath hitched, eyes flickering from their glowing yellow back to their usual shade as a startled scream tore from your lips.

Instinct kicked in as you twisted away, prying the hand off your shoulder with shaky fingers. Your movements were frantic, unsteady. In your rush to create distance, your foot slipped on the damp grass.

You stumbled backward, arms flailing uselessly to regain your balance, but gravity wasn’t forgiving tonight.

"No, no, no—!" The words barely left your lips before you felt it: an arm curling around your waist, warm and secure, trying to steady you. For a fleeting moment, you thought you’d be pulled back, saved from the inevitable fall.

But fate had other plans.

You went down, and so did he.

The icy water swallowed you both, shocking the air from your lungs as you hit its surface. The cold stabbed at your skin like a thousand tiny needles, and a gasp escaped you, only for the water to rush in through your mouth and nose.

Panic surged as your chest tightened, the burning need for air overwhelming your senses. Your limbs flailed in the dark water, your vision a blur of silvery moonlight and shifting shadows.

Just when the pressure in your lungs became unbearable, the same hand that had startled you moments ago was back, gripping your arm with unwavering strength. With a single pull, you were yanked upward, as if you weighed nothing.

You broke through the surface with a desperate gasp, coughing and sputtering as cold air filled your lungs. Your vision cleared just enough to make out the figure before you, drenched and dripping, his chest rising and falling as he caught his own breath.

You blinked rapidly, your body shivering violently from the cold. Water dripped down your face, tangling in your lashes and blurring your view, but you could still make out his piercing gaze locked onto yours.

"Stand still, Luna. It's not that deep," Kenji's voice broke through the haze in your mind, soft and distant. His words, though meant to calm you, barely registered in your brain. They felt like whispers, faint and without meaning, as your world rolled in the aftermath of the cold water.

You didn’t have the energy to respond. Everything felt numb, too much to process. You barely felt his hands as they gripped your body, pulling you out of the water, his strong arms steadying you. The cold air hit your skin like a slap, making your body tremble, but you didn’t care. Your clothes clung to your body, heavy and soaked, as if they were another layer of ice.

"Are you okay?" His voice, low and smooth, carried a tinge of concern, but you couldn’t answer him. You were too focused on your own ragged breathing, each gasp severe and painful as you tried to fill your lungs with air.

You nodded, still struggling to steady yourself, your knees weak beneath you. Kenji’s hands loosened their grip but remained close, as if afraid you might collapse. His eyes—green, intense, filled with raw worry—never left your face.

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in his drenched appearance. His black shirt clung to his frame, outlining the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen. Eight abs? You thought dazedly, momentarily distracted by the sharp, perfect definition of his body. His arms, thick with muscle, rippled as he shifted, veins prominent under his skin. His coat was missing, leaving only the damp shirt, trouser and boots that squeaked with every movement as water pooled around his feet.

For a moment, the world felt quieter, but the thudding of your pulse in your ears reminded you of the mess still swirling in your mind. Kenji’s eyes never left you, scanning you for any signs of distress, his worry plain in the furrow of his brows.

You opened your mouth, wanting to speak, but a cough seized you, harsh and sudden, the water still making its presence known in your lungs. You doubled over, a sharp spasm running through your chest as your throat burned.

Cough, cough.

You wheezed, the water still clogging your chest. Kenji’s hand was warm on your back, patting gently as you tried to catch your breath. His touch was surprisingly comforting, but it couldn’t shake the rush of anger and embarrassment bubbling up inside you. When your breathing finally steadied, he brushed your wet hair behind your ear.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be this frightened," he murmured, his voice soft and apologetic, eyes scanning you with an unreadable expression.

"Really," You snapped, unable to hold back your frustration any longer, huffing sharply and turning your gaze away from him. "Of course, I’ll be frightened. You came out of nowhere!" You couldn’t help it. The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, your heart racing in a way you didn’t understand. Your eyes darted around, desperately looking for something to focus on, when you caught sight of the lake.

"There’s a lake here. A lake." The words came out in disbelief as you took a step back, your mouth falling open as you stared at the calm water behind you. You couldn’t believe it. It was like you had stepped into another world, even though you were still in the Lycan palace.

Kenji was still beside you, and his puzzled gaze flickered between you and the lake. "Why do you seem so angry at the fact?" His voice was light, but there was confusion in his eyes.

"Because. I. Fell." The words came out sharp, punctuated with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, shivering from the cold water clinging to your clothes, which now felt like a second skin, heavy and soaked.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. "Valid," he said, almost too calmly, his eyes still filled with curiosity.

"Duh!" You huffed again, your arms tightening across your chest in annoyance. The cold bite of the air wasn’t helping, and the peaceful lake, which had once seemed serene, now only added to your growing frustration. Everything felt off now—strange and disorienting. You were unable to contemplate why were you feeling cold, you were a werewolf.

The anger, now mixed with frustration, flared up again. "Who has a lake behind their palace garden?" You shook your head, still in disbelief.

Kenji’s voice was full of pride as he spoke, "We do." The way he said it made you want to smack him, but you held yourself back, the urge bubbling up in your chest. It would be unladylike, un-queenly. No, you couldn’t afford to lose control like that. You sucked in a breath, steadying yourself. Elegance, composure—those were the things you had to focus on.

You forced a smile, one that felt far too wide, far too tight. "Kenji." Your voice was soft, almost sweet, and the smile that accompanied it was dripping with artificial sweetness. His eyes snapped to yours, widening for a moment, and you saw the exact second his face twisted into something almost grotesque.

"That’s so fake!" he blurted, his voice betraying the shock in his tone.

A gasp slipped past your lips, surprise flashing across your face before it quickly melted into something else. His eyes shot wide with horror, his skin paling as he stepped back slightly, as if you had just slapped him. "Oh! Moon goddess, forgive me, Luna. I—I…" His words faltered, stuttering, as if he could barely comprehend the mistake he had just made.

You blinked, confused. His reaction felt over the top, but there was a genuine fear in his eyes now, one that caught you off guard. You weren’t strong enough to fight him off, and you weren’t a queen yet—not in his eyes, not in anyone's eyes. The only one who might consider you his queen was Jungkook, and he barely acknowledged you as his mate.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, the cold air biting at your skin as you stared at Kenji, ignoring the tension that still hung between you. You couldn’t care less about his reaction to your earlier words, focusing instead on the question hanging in the air.

“What are you doing here at this time?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended. His eyes flickered with surprise, his mouth opening, but then nothing. He pointed a finger toward you, lips moving, but no sound came out. It was almost comical, watching him struggle to form words.

“What?” you snapped, growing impatient.

He blinked, his brows furrowing, trying to process your response before mumbling, “You mean, pardon?”

“No, I mean what. Now start talking, will you?” you demanded, your patience wearing thin.

He blinked at you, bewildered. “That was my question.”

“I mean once again. What?” You were so done with his indecision, the confusion clear on your face.

“That was my question.”

A frustrated sigh slipped past your lips, your eyes narrowing as you crossed your arms tighter. “I heard it before. Explain.”

Kenji’s eyes hardened slightly, frustration creeping into his expression, but he didn’t back down. “What are you doing here?” he repeated, his voice finally steady, but it only made you more annoyed.

“Walking?” you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You tilted your head, locking eyes with him. Your voice was dismissive, but the corners of your lips lifted in something close to a smirk.

“At this time?"

"When I walk, I don’t care about time. Walking is good.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your gaze challenging him to argue. His expression faltered for a moment, his mouth falling open as he stared at you, as if you’d grown two heads. You didn’t care.

“What? I can walk. It keeps you fit,” you added, eyes narrowing into a defiant glare, daring him to question you further.

Kenji stood tall, as he spoke, his gaze intense as if daring you to question him further. “We are. No. You are a werewolf. We have high metabolism. We stay fit anyway without walking,” he countered, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You arched an eyebrow, not even bothered by his words. “And?” you shot back, your voice laced with indifference. You still didn’t have a reason for being here, but you weren’t about to back down.

He sighed, clearly growing tired. “What are you doing here?” you asked again, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

His gaze flicked to you, and before you could even bink, the words reached your ear. “Patrolling.” He said it with such ease, as if it were a routine task. His shoulders shifted, a casual shrug, as he waited for you to process. His eyes never left yours, a slight raise of his brow as if daring you to argue.

“Why?” you asked, your confusion evident. You could already feel the answer forming in his mind, but you were far too frustrated to wait for it. “I mean, why you?” you continued, gesturing at his strong frame. “You’re a warrior. A strong one. You have different duties. The guards who patrol are different.”

Kenji’s lips curled into a grin, and he stepped forward, looking down at you with pride. “First of all, I’m not a strong warrior. I’m the strongest.” His chest puffed out even more, his chin tilting upwards as if the very idea of being anything less than the best was an insult. The smirk on his face deepened as he caught your eye. “And don’t you know we were attacked yesterday? One of our warriors almost died?”

His words hit you like a slap. You blinked in disbelief, the words barely registering in your mind. “What?” The harshness in your voice made Kenji wince, his hand instinctively going to his ear as if to shield it from the sound. He stepped back, his face contorting in discomfort, eyes wide with surprise.

“You don’t know? Nobody told you?” His voice was quieter now, almost uncertain, and you shook your head in response. His brow furrowed, confusion turning to something else—something closer to curiosity. “Why?” he asked, a tinge of disbelief still hanging in his voice.

“I was ordered by Jungkook to stay away from pack business and so was told others not to tell me anything,” you explained, the words coming out flat, detached. You didn’t expect his reaction—his face drained of colour, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. His throat bobbed, and a heavy gulp escaped him, loud and clear. There was panic in his eyes now.

“Kenji?” You walked closer, your gaze softening as his body trembled slightly. You put your arm on his shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort.

But what you didn’t expect was the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders hunched as if the weight of something far heavier rested on them.

“Are you crying?” you asked in disbelief, your voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t want to die.” He whispered, his voice small and muted. The words hung in the air, heavy and confusing.

“I still want to find my mate and impregnate her.” His confession was quiet, the last part barely audible.

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

Okay, now I’m just here nervously waiting for your thoughts! Please go easy on me, I promise I’m trying my best! 😬

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 19

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 1.1k

Author's Note: Merry Christmas everyone! I come bearing a new chapter! Wow, can't believe it's been four months since my last update 😅 Sorry for disappearing on y'all! I can't commit to my previous bi-weekly schedule of updating, but it should be a lot better. Personally, I think this chapter is trash, and far from my usual writing (my beta says otherwise), so please extend a little bit of grace as I get back into the swing of things. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

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As Wolffe approached the room, he could hear Cara laughing and Comet talking in a funny voice. He shook his head at their silliness, but the smile that crept onto his face probably looked just as silly. He loved hearing Cara laugh, even though he was never good at causing it. His wife was the one who did the tickling and the funny voices at bedtime that made her laugh until her sides hurt, not him. He just liked to watch and listen, however, hearing it now only made the hole in his heart grow bigger. It was another reminder of what he lost. Perhaps out of selfishness, Wolffe opened the door to interrupt the raucous laughter.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Cara yelled as she jumped off the bed and ran toward the door.

Wolffe smiled and bent over to hoist her up onto his hip and then gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, baby. Did you have fun with Comet today?"

Cara nodded her head, eyes bright and crinkled with a wide grin. "Mhm. We went all over the place and, and we saw the tree!"

"Yeah?" Wolffe said, feigning a little surprise. "What'd you think? Was it like you imagined?"

Cara hummed. "It was smaller than I thought. Comet said there are planets with bigger trees."

"He's right," Wolffe said. "I've seen trees as big as buildings."

"Really?" Her eyes went wide with wonder.

"Yup. Some so high, you can't even see the tops."

"I want to see those!"

Wolffe chuckled. "Maybe someday."

"Why not now?" Cara whined.

Wolffe sighed and set Cara back down on the ground. "Because, I said so."

What was he supposed to say? Because he was fighting in a war and she wasn't allowed to come along? Or that she could get hurt or even die? His wife always told him there was no point in trying to reason with a child's logic because they'll always have another question buried among a thousand other questions, and a firm 'because I said so' was enough to get the job done. The other thing she taught him was to change the subject.

"Remember when you asked if you could come out with me this morning?" Wolffe asked.

Cara nodded.

"Want to come out with me tomorrow morning?"

Cara nodded with enthusiasm.

"Good," Wolffe said. "We're going to meet someone, so I want you on your best behavior."

"Who?" Cara asked.

Wolffe hesitated as he thought of what to say. "A… a new friend of daddy's. She'll be staying with us for a while."

Comet side-eyed Wolffe at the comment, but Wolffe glared back with a silent warning. Comet knew they were shipping out the next evening, and the wheels in his head were already turning about who this new friend could be. However, Comet also knew that Wolffe would kill him if he dared to mention their deployment to Cara before he did, so he kept his mouth shut, even though it ate him up on the inside.

"Will I like her?" Cara asked.

"I think so," Wolffe said. In truth, he had no information about the woman. He didn't know what her name was, what she looked like, who she was affiliated with, or what she was capable of, but he didn't have a choice at this point. It was either the mystery nanny or the mystery Jedi, and he'd rather take a chance on the mystery woman who Fox most likely already checked out. "She's a nanny."

"What's a nanny?" Cara asked.

"They help take care of children," Wolffe explained. The light huff that came from Comet did not go unnoticed and Wolffe turned his head to glare at the trooper with a sterner warning. This was hard enough as it was and he didn't need Comet breathing down his neck about how wrong it was to lie to his child. Without a single word, Comet rose from the bed and walked out of the room, visually perturbed and practically snarling out of Cara's view. Wolffe would deal with him later, but for now he still needed to convince Cara. "She's going to help me take care of you, like Mommy did."

Cara blinked, her face scrunching in thought. "Oh."

There was an awkward silence in the room and Wolffe didn't know how to fill it. He couldn't go into much more detail, or she might catch on that he was leaving, and now he didn't have Comet as back-up if he screwed up. She was a smart kid, after all, and was getting smarter every day.

"Will she be my new mommy?" Cara asked.

The innocent question punched Wolffe in the gut. The breath was sucked out of him to the point where he thought his lungs would never reinflate as images of his wife flashed across his mind, and in that split second, it felt like she died all over again. He knelt in front of Cara and shook his head. "No, baby. Mommy can't be replaced, ever." His voice quivered with emotions that he thought he was better at hiding. "Do you understand me? You're not getting a new mommy."

Cara frowned, eyes watering, but not a single tear fell. "Okay."

Wolffe took a deep breath to settle himself and then pulled Cara in for a hug. Another twisted tug-of-war was being fought between his mind and his heart. He desperately wanted to get away from everything that reminded him of his wife, including Cara, but he also desperately wanted to hold every last piece of her that he had left, which was Cara. It made him feel sick to want both at the same time, knowing that he could only have one at a time and both at the cost of the other.

"We're gonna be okay," Wolffe whispered, more for himself than for Cara. "I promise."

Cara tightened her embrace against Wolffe with little hands that used to be so tiny they couldn't even wrap around his finger. He'd give anything to have those cycles back, and he'd do it all differently. He wouldn't let his wife give birth alone, or miss birthdays and anniversaries, or miss Cara's growth markers or the doctor appointments. If he could go back, he would desert and start a new life somewhere far, far away from the GAR's reach, where he could take care of his family and enjoy them longer.

But that was why clones didn't get into romantic relationships, that was why clones didn't get married, and that was why clones didn't have babies, because that kind of life was never meant for a clone. Clones were bred for one purpose, and that was to serve the GAR from life until death with loyalty and honor. Love, peace, and happiness were never part of the original equation, and the loss of his wife was just proof that the galaxy hated him and his kind. He'd never be able to go back, and he may never be able to move forward. Only time would tell.

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[generalluxun]

Ahh this makes it more clear. Ranting is valid. The rant just sounded close enough to what some consider reasoned discourse that several of us newbs were fooled.

I think two of the reasons so many fandom folks still cling are

1)Sunk costs. It's been 10yrs of this.

2)As of S4, none of this really bad stuff had metastisized.

Sure Mari was making some questionable moves in S4, but it still felt like it could lead somewhere. It could have been the one in a one-two punch.

But it wasn't.

S5 Marinette is... I don't know what the plan was. It seems insane. Writer commentary seems to indicate the legitimately thought this was a good/wholesome direction and just.... Wow.

Many people just cling to that pre-S5 Marinette as *Marinette*. They're too invested in the girl-they-knew to let her go that easy. Heck, I'm one of them. Is she gone? S6 will kind of bear this out one way or another.

Calling it the writing is important for context though to a point. Even if they were to shake out Marinette's character and scrub her down until she's the girl you used to love, nothing will *fix* S5. Marinette can be a good person again, but S5 will still be a badly written season. You'll still talk about the series to new watchers by saying 'Yeah and then S5 happens. Here's the cliff notes. Watch it only if you really want to. Here's a couple high points for fun.'

The reason I say even an expertly crafted turnaround that restores Marinette can't save S5 is that- You don't put a multi year damnation/redemption arc into your programing aimed at kids. Kids age out. Kids move on. A 3-5 yr arc is just not responsible in a showrunner. Kids will be left with half the message.

It's important to have NaCl in your diet. But straight Cl is pure poison. 😅

I do get the visceral emotional response though, and I haven't even been here half the time some people have. The Marinette who stood in front of the world and declared Gabriel Agreste a hero betrayed a lot of people, and I don't mean characters in the show.

I get that alot of people go with the approach of "every Miraculous character is deeply screwed by the writers, so it's a writing problem" but at this point this feels like deflecting from the real problem

No shit stories and their characters are written by writers, but so many blogs I see now that go with that approach imo keep on dismissing the point of the problems people are pissed about because "well the characters aren't real, so I'm superior for saying it's the writers fault"

Guys, we KNOW they are fictional characters, you're not unique. But what is happening is that I get less and less out of the analysis posts from these blogs because they're beating around the damn bush especially when it comes to Marinette.

Yes, every character is screwed by the writing but Marinette has been retooled into the self-serving center of the universe who gets by though damn technicalities. This writing pattern is 2 disastrous seasons in, SHE IS THE PROBLEM.

You can try and sugarcoat that however you like by saying that Marinette is a fictional character so its the writers fault, but that doesn't change that Marinette's CHARACTER & WRITING is still the source of all the problems and that stories are being told to get emotional reactions. That's the entire purpose of a story.

No, I don't think people are doing it right by approaching all of Miraculous on a mere meta level. That's not how a story is supposed to be read. The meta level is an additional one on top of the emotional one, not the "rational way" to consume media.

And imo the analysis blogs I see around so much deliver less and less analysis posts I can do anything with. They are so caught up in explaining that the characters aren't to blame but the writers that they sideline why people are feeling the way they do.

There is this persistent dissonance in their posts about how apparently no amount of bad writing can change a character when that's just... objectively incorrect. Marinette for example is SUPPOSED to be compassionate and a thoughtful hero and partner/ leader to Cat Noir. Marinette in Canon though by this point is straight up NOT anymore.

But in their posts it's basically said that if people say that, then that makes them irrational because on a meta level the execution and effect of the writing is apparently irrelevant. Distant meta is king and the only rational way to engage with this story.

And I just don't see the point in that.

The outcome and the emotional effect of the writing is what actually matters. Not the intention behind it (no wonder people are using that excuse to defend Marinette's character. It's another variant of "but she MEANT well"). If Marinette is by now a toxic and even abusive partner and leader to be suck with, then that's the fucking damage the writing did. And said damage is DONE. That's her character NOW. Talk about the theory behind it however you like, the character CONCEPT is not Canon compliant anymore, and nothing is gonna change that besides facing the deeply rooted damage that has been done, analysing those on an EMOTIONAL level so you can then course correct the CANON character through the necessary development into becoming what the character was initially supposed to be.

Call me a dick, but just saying "the characters aren't real" is not a productive way of going about this dumpster fire anymore.

---

Another thing to take into account about the “it’s just bad writing” approach is that, like, it’s not like the way Marinette herself is being written has changed that much. What changed is how the narrative and other characters react to her and her behavior. Marinette has always been self-important, self-serving and self-obsessed, but these used to be treated as character flaws, signs of her immaturity and naivete she’d need to grow out of. Now we’re being told she’s flawless, actually, and has never done anything wrong ever and none of her mistakes were her fault. 

Like, I’ve recently been familiarizing myself more with the “my dear diary” teen drama genre, and it really is more of a dramedy genre if anything. Most of these series will have a self-important, self-serving and self-obsessed protagonist and the entire narrative is filtered through their self-centered world-view, because we’re basically reading their diary where they vent about things that annoy or excite them. Now comes the kicker: the “comedy” of the dramedy comes from how comically over the top these protagonists are when they clearly and obviously misrepresent their lives and themselves to the audience. Miraculous is leaning very heavily into this downright selfish protagonist archetype, but actually wants you to agree with the protagonist when you can see, with your own eyes, because this is a different medium, that the world isn’t nearly as unfair to our protagonist as she claims.

Here’s another kicker: if you aren’t laughing at the joke or projecting yourself onto the protagonist, you’re most likely gonna hate the protagonist of most “my dear diary” books. They tend to be the most opinion-splitting characters in their own fandoms, with readers either loving them or outright despising them.

Dismissing these kinds of fandom reactions only when they veer into the negative direction showcases the real motivation of the “it’s all just the writing” crowd. I need to dissociate from the show’s story in order to discuss why Marinette is still so beloved by the fandom, because I just can’t feel that way about her anymore. Similarly, the people dissociating from the story in order to explain why fans are disappointed and outraged by the story, can’t see anything worth getting upset about in the show. They think it’s all okay. They’re not approaching the show purely logically, they are still emotionally invested, they still like the show. Of course the seemingly logical approach to fandom unrest seems to just be defending Marinette and the show, because it is.

It’s basically a way to retreat from the criticism. Like, the accusations of Marinette being a stalker used to be easily sidelined with “it’s just a joke you don’t like” until they made it a sign of canonical mental instability. It was a way to say: "this is a silly thing to be upset about". Now we’re sidelining the abuse apologia with “it’s just bad writing, that’s not what Marinette’s character is”. What these people are actually saying is: “she’s made up, so my made up version of Marinette in my head didn’t do that.” Like, when you have to deny canon exists, your analysis isn’t analysis anymore; it’s headcanons at the very least, completely made up at most.

[warcats-cat]

human interaction!!

what's your favorite thing to write? what's your favorite part of the writing process? your least favorite?

what other fandoms, besides the ones you've written, would you want to write for in the future? If you were forced to write something about a fandom you knew very little about (let's say you get a summary of the plot and characters, plus whatever you might've absorbed via fandom posts from your mutuals), what fandom do you think you'd have the most luck with and why?

if you create OCs, what's your favorite OC that you've created? have you created any villain OCs? do you prefer Gen fics or romantic fics (both to read and to write)? who's your favorite comfort character? who's a character that probably shouldn't be comforting, but is anyway? who's a character that other people seem to love, but you just don't get the hype?

I hope this helps a little!! I'm always down to chat and trade asks!

20 questions 🤣🤣🤣 ok:

1) my favorite thing to write is also my favorite thing to read! Hurt/Comfort!!!!!

2) Most favorite part - Daydreaming about the characters/storyline while pretending to be mentally present at work!

3) Least favorite part - Making the words go 😢

4) I usually write what I know best at any moment - I've been eyeing some of the art/fic in the FNAF fandom lately but just kinda dipping my hands in, not really ready to dive in. I just love my Sanders Boys, ya know?

5) I think I could BS something from one of the classic animes, like Death Note or Naruto. I did watch Ouran Highschool Host Club and a few other sillier animes but my fandom experiences with those ended at looking at fanart. ((Wait, can Pokemon count? Can I do Pokemon? I know some Pokemon 👀👀👀))

6) my OC's are my DND characters and by far my favorite is Ink of Dreams, my cat-person thief 😍😍. Also Thistle, who isn't really an OC so much as my OC's pet 😅😅😅 If anything I guess HE would be my "favorite" because I talk about him all the time and he's in three dnd campaigns and I had a plushie made and I'm trying to have a movable puppet made...

7) RN I have a villain OC for a WIP I'm working on (read: poking with a stick like a dead animal) and I do enjoy writing her very much. She is an agent of chaos and I hate her so much, it's great 💜 I don't have a lot of experience doing the just straight up ridiculously depraved, but writing her is also giving me practice for writing future LRH adjacent fics involving Gabriel 👀👀👀

8) uuuuhhhhhh I like cuddles 😅😅😅😅 I'm fine with both, just not big on smut. I think I'm a little bit romantically starved tbh because sometimes I pull up a comfort fic that I know is gonna make me cry because I just kinda *need* to cry if that makes sense? I'm asexual and finding a romantic partner is hard 🥲 But anyway yeah I'm fine with both! RN I'm on a baby fic kick so send me babies 💜💜

9) My current comfort character is Patton from Sanders Sides, and no one is surprised. 😅 I just vibe with him a lot because in also a very emotionally-open and emotionally-invested person, I tend to be a caretaker and I like to be prepared in case someone around me needs help. And RN with fandom drama especially, I just feel connected with Patton. I also experienced a period of my life where I tried to help but made some mistakes and then was demonized and called an abuser, manipulative, gaslighter, horrible person and then I found out I was autistic so the things I was doing (like leaving a party to sit outside and decompress when I was overwhelmed and crying) weren't as common-sense and understood as I thought (aka said behavior was called me going off and crying to isolate people and make them come take care of me) ANYWAY. It's kinda funny because I've always bounced between Patton and Virgil for TS; it was mostly Virgil at first and then I had a gap where Good Omens took over, and then it was back to TS but now more vibing with Patton

10) I can't really think of a comfort character that would be considered "not good" besides like. The characters I call my "Anime Boyfriends", Jake English and Dirk Strider from Homestuck, but that's more because like,,, the creator of Homestuck kinda uses a *lot* of slurs,,,, but also I only read like 1/4 of the whole comic,,,, and I go off of fanon interpretations,,,, from ask blogs c2012,,, so.........

11) I do not understand the obsession with Janus and Remus. I'm gonna admit - I don't like them in canon. At all. I am ok with most fanon interpretations, but I just don't like them. I like the "Core Four" (Logan, Virgil, Patton, Roman) and that's it. And I do NOT look forward to the "orange side". And to be 100%, I get frustrated because I want to read poly fic of just the core four and so many people are tossing Janus and Remus in the mix and I just want to find the ones that don't and it takes *forever* to filter out all of the different variants of ships. 🥲 obv I'm not going to tell anyone else to stop enjoying their ships and characters, but I'm not gonna go searching for the stuff that I don't enjoy, either.

Thank you for the ask friend!! 💜💜 it's very much appreciated lol, and a lot of your questions really made me think 😅😅

[catastrxblues]

EVERMORE by taylor swift (feat. bon iver) — “and i was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step. and i couldn’t be sure, i had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be forevermore.”

my #swiftiegiftexchange2024 for @lovesickallovermybed!!!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽

[hailsatanacab]

Your Favourite Author's Favourite Fic

in no way is this me sneakily trying to get fic recs out of people, but here's my new tag game!

Rules! When tagged, reblog with the fic you've written that you love the most

Not the fic with the most kudos, or the most comments, or the most hits, but the fic that you're the most proud of. I'm talking about the story that kept you up at night, the one that you still think about, the one that you wish more people would read

So, it's time to show off! I strongly encourage - in fact, I demand - that you give yourself some compliments, a well-deserved pat on the back, and tell us all the reasons why it's your favourite!

Then tag five people and make them go through it, too 🥰🩷

I'll tag @wolfjackle, @tourettesdog, @gilbirda, @die-erlkonigin6083, and @thewritingowl to get us started, please and thank you!!

[waynes-multiverse]

Feeling a lot better this week, thank you!! I've never had it before. I kinda thought I got away with it at this point. Oh well... 😂😂

Merry (almost) Christmas, Alex! 😁🎄❤️

Honestly I don't blame her for thinking about it. This whole thing is a hot mess of epic proportions, but interesting that she headed the route of "let me go to work" instead of going to the hospital. I'd imagine she just wants to dip into her workaholic self for a while instead of dealing with Stag 1 and Stag 2 going at it over there. 😅

Nailed it 100% 😂 Who wouldn't wanna escape from that mess? lol And Diane's mess is a good distraction. Besides, I imagine revenge has gotten a bit personal for her now 😅

Hoooooly SHIT. Diane really DID "get around." 😨 She's playing an even sicker game than I thought. How she got so high into law enforcement is craaazy.

Ah yes, some hide it well...

Omfgggg of course Beau has to deal with this too. 🤣🤣 I shouldn't laugh, right? But Randy is (understandably) staying in his sour patch kid phase, even as he's demanding help from his ex-best friend/partner. Talk about reluctant allies. lol

Had to add a little comedy at this point. Things were getting... dire lol

And something tells me the boys being forced to work together like old times will help them come to an understanding 😉

Ooof yes Beau, that's an asshole statement, but I get why he feels that way. 😂 And it also tracks that Jenny is the one he's honest to about that, probably knowing she'll call him out for it! 😂😂

Loved that moment, too! He was holding up such a brave face for so long and trying to be the bigger person, he had to let it slip somehow, even if it was just for a second lol

It's clear he thinks the right thing is for reader to be with Randy, but a big part of him (which he's trying to choke down) is obviously hoping things work out in his favor and she stays with him 😅

Oh Gooood, she dropped the "I love you" just in case she wouldn't get to see him again, didn't she? 😭😭😭

Don't we love a good "I love you" goodbye?

Story is on holiday break ❄️ till January 3. Guess you'll have to remain on the edge of your seat until then 😉 We don't want too much drama and angst around Christmas, do we? 🙈

Thank you so much for reading, friend! 🤍😘

Polaris – Chapter 11

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+, angst, more serial killer shenanigans & a twist

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: So sorry for being so elusive this week! Still playing catch-up on everything after being sick for so long 🤪 I'll be back fully by Monday and talk to you guys again soon. Meanwhile, I didn't want you to wait for this chapter, so enjoy 🤍

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Chapter 11: You With Me

Once you had waltzed right through those cursed glass doors of the hospital and ended up at the parking lot, you stopped thinking and kept on running – literally. Out of breath, you started the car and drove until the building was out of view. And before you knew what you had done, you had passed the town sign of Helena as well.

But your dire need for escape didn’t last long.

It would’ve been so easy to just keep driving and leave all of it behind you in the rearview mirror. Maybe your big pile of cow manure would still make a decent fertilizer for the local farmers. But the ache lassoed around your heart tugged you back.

Pulling over to the side of the road, you took a moment to clear your mind. Head in your hands, you let yourself fall back into your seat and took a few deep breaths. You only ever made it through one yoga class, but you remembered the breathing had helped.

Still, every bone in your body wanted to bolt and never see either one of them again. In your mind, you had already asked your boss for a transfer. Maybe it was time to finally take him up on that offer to ship you off to DC.

But, of course, you couldn’t do it.

With a screeching U-turn, you headed back to town. Your destination wasn’t the hospital, however. Instead, you ended up at the Sheriff’s Department.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

On your way inside, a middle-aged man in a long, gray coat jumped up from a bench in front the building. He looked distraught, half his face hidden by a navy, voluminous scarf, but you still recognized him instantly.

“Mr. Hughes,” you said with a hint of surprise in your voice. He was the last victim’s husband, and you wondered what he was doing here. Had Jenny brought him in for more questioning?

“I heard you caught the killer. Is that true?”

Small towns, you scoffed and rolled your eyes internally.

“Mr. Hughes, I’m very sorry. I know you want answers, but please understand that I can’t share any more information with you at this point. The Sheriff’s deputies will update you as soon as we know more,” you gave the procedural answer and suddenly accelerated your pace, looking for the safety of the station in a hurry – and not only because it had gotten cold.

“Is it that DA?” he asked desperately as he followed you and cornered you again by the door.

So close…

“Mr. Hu–”

However, he didn’t let you finish this time and cut you off, “Because if it is, there’s something you should know.”

“You sure that’s her?” you asked for the third time as Mr. Hughes stared intensely at Diane, handcuffed to a metal table in Interrogation Room 1 this time.

Diane grinned like she had just won the lottery, even though no one was in the room with her. You had hauled her from her little jail cell just so Hughes could properly identify her. Although he recognized her in photos, you wanted to be sure. God knows Diane would rip that testimony apart in court, otherwise.

Hughes nodded vehemently. “Yes, I’m positive, Agent Y/L/N. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“I just had to make sure. I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you, Mr. Hughes,” you reiterated.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’d recognize the first woman I slept with after my wife was murdered,” he snapped impatiently, but you couldn’t blame him. The man was really going through it at the moment.

“Of course. We believe you, Mr. Hughes. Thank you for coming in and letting us know,” Jenny said and took over, seeing the exhaustion on your face. “There’s some coffee in the lobby. Why don’t you help yourself while Deputy Poppernak fills you in on the next steps.”

With a heavy head, he nodded and dragged his weary feet out of the small room. “Alright. Thank you kindly, ladies.”

You exhaled a deep breath as soon as the door closed and ran a hand through your hair. You couldn’t catch a break, could you?

“Hughes is pretty shaken up,” Jenny noted pensively.

“Yeah, I mean, can you imagine finding out you unknowingly slept with your wife’s killer?” And suddenly, it dawned on you – the irony of Diane’s plan. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Jenny raised a brow but gave you a comforting smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Not gonna lie. Been better,” you replied dryly.

“Wanna fill me in over coffee?”

You nodded with a smirk. “Only if you pour a lot of whiskey into my mug, too.”

Jenny grinned. “Deal.”

“I almost bolted today,” you told Jenny as the two of you sat at the big round table of the station’s break room. You clasped the warm mug even tighter in your cold hands. “Made it past the town sign, too.”

“Why did you come back?” Jenny took a sip from her own drink, hiding her knowing smile behind her cup.

“The job.”

Jenny snorted and cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really?”

You smiled, your eyes focusing on the mug in your hands. “No.”

“You love both of ‘em?”

You nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. “In a way, yeah…”

“But it’s Beau,” Jenny stated like it was obvious.

“I-…” You let out a sigh. “I guess I’m scared to be cruel. It just seems so… unfair to him. Randy doesn’t deserve this. And even if… How are me and Beau supposed to just move on happily, knowing all of this? I’m afraid Diane might win this one. She actually found the goddamn breaking point. I don’t think our relationship can survive this.”

“Maybe not,” Jenny agreed quietly. She knew you had found yourself in an impossible situation. No matter where you looked for a solution, you only ever found dead ends. “Look, maybe you and Beau can’t get past this. But staying with Randy because you feel bad and don’t want to hurt his feelings is just going to hurt him more in the end. It’s crueler if you stay. You’re not doing him a favor.”

“Oh, I know. Trust me. I’ve been through this a thousand times over the last twenty-four hours. No one’s winning anything here,” you said and took a big sip from your alcoholic coffee. Then suddenly, your gut got that familiar twinge again. Your eyes widened as they found Jenny’s.

“What?” The blonde blinked at you. “I know that look. You found something.”

“We need to speak with the other victims’ husbands,” you informed Jenny, urgency swinging in your voice.

“You think she slept with the others as well?”

“What d’you think?”

Jenny sighed and blew the frustrated puff of air into her mug. She shook her head and muttered grimly, “Fucking Diane.”

“Let’s get back to work.”

Breathlessly, Beau stood in front of the hospital, hands on his squared-off hips. He looked left and right, but as far as he could tell you were long gone.

Hearing an exhaustive sigh behind him, he spun around and found his old partner fully clothed. Randy ripped off his hospital bracelet and let his lungs fill with a breath of fresh, cold mountain air. He shivered a bit in his thin denim jacket and t-shirt. Diane must’ve not left him with clothes appropriate for Montana’s dropping temperatures. Winter had rolled into the country – in more ways than one.

Beau lifted an eyebrow. “Did they discharge you?”

“Nope. Discharged myself,” Randy retorted and looked across the parking lot.

“Randy–”

“I’m fine,” he bit. “There’s nothing wrong with me, so can we please just go look for my wife?”

Wide-eyed, Beau stumped. “I’m sorry… we?!”

Spending any more time with Randy was definitely the last thing Beau needed.

“Yes, we. I don’t have a car. You have to drive,” Randy clarified, the anger in his voice still swinging punches at Beau’s face. Every word out of Randy’s mouth spelled the same message: You owe me. Beau could hardly argue with that. “Which one’s yours?”

Sourly, Beau pointed straight ahead. “The red Jeep.”

Randy’s brow furrowed. “That rusty old thing? Where the hell did you get that?”

“Mexico.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Hey, I know you’re angry with me, but don’t take it out on Pedro and hurt his feelings,” Beau said, hoping his lightheartedness would be contagious. Randy was immune, however, and didn’t break a smile. “Just stay here, go back inside, and let me look for her alone.”

“Oh, you would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually, I would.”

“Forget it. I’m not staying here,” Randy huffed and opened the car door, heaving himself into the passenger seat.

Beau sighed deeply, tapping Pedro’s roof with his flat palm. “‘Course you’re not,” he muttered bitterly, rolling his eyes back.

“Congrats, Diane,” you said and slapped yet another folder down in front of her. A smirk played across the murderous prosecutor’s lips. She hoped you’d find the smoking gun eventually, and you hated the fact she always seemed to be miles ahead. “So far, I’ve spoken to seventeen husbands of your previous victims, and you… Wow.”

Honestly, you were speechless. As were all the husbands when you had the honor of telling them over the phone they might have screwed their wives’ killer. But you weren’t just looking for confirmation. Something had bugged you since Randy had magically appeared in a hospital bed.

Diane shrugged coolly – and proudly. “What can I say? I got around. Please give them my condolences.”

You scoffed a humorless chuckle and sat down across from her. “You know, something keeps gnawing on me. First of all, how the fuck did you know Randy was still alive?”

The cold-hearted lawyer smiled. “Can’t blame you. That’s a doozie.”

“And even if you did find out, how on earth did you get him out of the cartel’s claws? I mean, that alone would deserve some applause. Hate to say it, but I’m honestly impressed,” you admitted, even though your admiration was just a honey trap.

“Thank you, Agent. I appreciate your honesty. I know that must not have been easy for you to admit,” Diane replied and leaned forward on the table. “Truth is, getting him out was easy. The cartel wanted to get rid of him. He was just dead weight that attracted too much attention from law enforcement.”

“So you made a deal with them, and they just… gave him to you?” It sounded unbelievable, and you knew she was hiding something, only revealing parts of the truth to you.

“As I said, they wanted to get rid of him. In a way, you owe me. I saved him. They would’ve executed him a week later and put his head on a stick for you to find,” Diane argued, shrugging her shoulders.

It was hard to deny. In a weird way, she was right. She did save Randy, even if it was just for her personal gain. Blowing up your life or not, Randy was back – thanks to her.

“Fine,” you relented. “The second thing that keeps bugging me, though, is: How did you let Randy escape from the bunker? Was there a timer on the door, and it just opened? ‘Cause Randy said he only remembers someone stabbing him with a needle before he woke up by the side of the road. I looked at his tox screen, he still had enough in his system when he got to the hospital. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours. So, either you almost gave him a lethal dose and he got lucky, or…”

“Or what, Agent?”

You met her icy gray eyes. “You’re working with someone,” you stated determinedly. You didn’t need her to confirm it. You knew. Every bone in your body, every drop of blood – you knew.

A smile flickered alive in the corners of her mouth. Warm. Fond. “Well done. I knew you’d get there.”

Abruptly, you rose from you seat and stormed through the door, leaving Diane behind. You had to find your second killer.

“Good luck, Agent!”

“Beau.” Jenny rose from her desk with an arched eyebrow at the strange man following the sheriff inside the station. She witnessed a brief (and rather heated) exchange of words between the men before Beau walked her way with a furiously creased brow.

“You seen Y/N?” With a shake of his head that was supposed to release some of his exasperation, the sheriff took off his hat and ran a hand through his locks.

“You just missed her,” Jenny informed her exhausted boss.

“Dammit!”

“Rough day?”

“Yup, doesn’t seem to be gettin’ easier, either,” Beau replied, carrying frustration in his voice as he glanced back over his shoulder at his former partner.

“Is that–”

“Randy? Yeah,” Beau confirmed with an annoyed huff.

“Huh. Interesting…”

Beau scowled at the blonde. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jenny gave a shrug of her shoulders and tilted her head at Randy. “Just thought he’d be different. That’s all.”

Suspiciously, Beau’s eyes narrowed, darting from Randy to Jenny. “Are you checking him out, Hoyt?”

“What? No,” Jenny replied a little too defensively. “‘Sides, if I was, I’d be doing you a favor.”

Beau swayed his head from side to side, actually considering the option. “You’re not wrong. Can’t seem to get rid of him… And I realize that makes me sound like an asshole.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jenny replied, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Thanks, Hoyt,” Beau scoffed. “Any idea where Y/N went?”

“Not exactly. We’ve had an interesting visitor today. Remember Hughes?”

Beau nodded. “Husband of our last victim.”

“He came by the station after hearing we caught Diane,” Jenny explained. “He confessed to sleeping with her after his wife was killed.”

Beau’s brow furrowed, green eyes widening. “Wait, did he know that-…?”

Jenny shook her head. “No, he didn’t connect the dots till we had her in custody. But Y/N and I then checked the other–”

Beau squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. “Don’t tell me she–”

“Uh-huh.”

“Unbelievable…” Beau let his shaking head hang, sighing.

“Y/N then had a chat with Diane. She confirmed it,” Jenny informed him further. “After that, she stormed out. Said she was following a lead.”

“You know which one?”

Jenny shook her head apologetically. “I wasn’t in the room. I was still calling husbands. But Y/N had a few more names left on her list from the Texas victims.”

Beau then pulled out his phone and tried you again, but only ever caught the receiving end of your voicemail, which wasn’t rare, considering the spotty service in town. “Still voicemail.”

“What’s that?” Jenny leaned closer, squinting her eyes at his screen. “You’ve got a message.”

“Huh. It’s from her. Ten minutes ago. Voicemail,” Beau said and frowned at his phone, his thumb wringing with the touchscreen.

He then held it to his ear and listened.

“Ugh, voicemail. Again. Stupid woods everywhere…” you huffed a sigh into your phone, your eyes concentrating on the foggy road ahead. “Beau, it’s me. I’ve found something. Driving to your place now. Meet me there,” you said, already rounding the corner to his road. “Diane’s not working alone. She has a partner. Probably someone submissive that she can manipulate easily to do her bidding…”

Parking the car in front of his trailer, you unfastened your seatbelt and hurried out.

“I checked the list of husbands. I think it’s our first victim in Texas. His name is Hal Turner. He is a quiet accountant. Kind of an odd duck when I spoke to him…” Looking through Beau’s planters, you searched for the second key. You knew he hid it here somewhere. “But he did serve some prison time a couple years ago. And while he was in prison, his wife was having an affair… with Diane’s husband, his goddamn defense attorney. And if your mind isn’t blown yet, just wait for the next part. Guess why Turner was in prison in the first place? See, he tried earning some extra cash, doing the books for a biker gang, which just so happens to be connected to our favorite cartel. Yeah… That’s probably how they got their hands on Randy.”

There was a noise. You had realized it too late, and your weapon was still in the car. One breath later, you felt the cool metal of a gun barrel pressing against the back of your skull.

“Uhm… anyways, put out an APB. I’m here now, so… just get here too, okay? I love you. Bye.”

You dropped your phone to the ground and raised your hands, taking a deep breath before you spoke. “Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. I left my gun in the car. I’m no threat to you. You don’t have to do this, Mr. Turner.”

“You’ve figured it all out. She said you were smart,” he said, and you could hear the uneasiness, the jitters, in his voice.

“Mr. Turner, I’m gonna turn around now, so we can talk better, okay?” you pleaded, ordering your body to stay calm.

“What’s there to talk about? I have to do this. I can’t disappoint her,” the man stated. And once you looked at him, you knew he wasn’t of sound mind anymore. Diane had done a number on the guy.

“No, you don’t. You heard. I already told my colleagues about you. They’re gonna look for you. It’s over, Mr. Turner,” you explained as gently as possible. “But if you come willingly to the station with me, I’ll make sure to get you a deal with the DA. Please… Don’t do this.”

For a moment, you thought he bought it. He hesitated as if he were actually considering the option to end it all right there. But then you recognized the pity in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Yeah… That’s probably how they got their hands on Randy… Uhm… anyways, put out an APB. I’m here now, so… just get here too, okay? I love you. Bye.”

Half the station had gathered around the sheriff, including Randy, as soon as Beau put your message on speaker after the first few sentences. Beau only snapped his finger at Poppernak, who nodded eagerly and raced to the nearest computer, putting out an APB on Hal Turner.

Randy cleared his throat and excused himself outside before Beau realized what exactly had bothered his former partner about your message.

I love you.

Only Jenny remained standing next to him with a creased brow. He knew that look.

“What?” Beau prompted. “I know. Trust me. I wouldn’t have put it on speaker if I had known beforehand.”

“No, not that.” Jenny shook her head but then changed her mind. “Or maybe exactly that. Didn’t she sound weird to you towards the end?”

Beau shrugged. His mind might have turned off temporarily after hearing those three words. “What d’you mean?”

“At the start, she’s all excited because she solved the case, right? But then there’s this weird pause before her voice changes. She sounds… calm,” Jenny explained.

“You mean because she’s trying to stay calm,” Beau added.

“Because she’s seen something,” Jenny finished. “Someone. Hal Turner.”

Green eyes widened as his chest tightened. Beau thundered outside, passing Randy on a bench on his way to the car.

“Whoa, what’s going on? Where are you running off to?” Randy hurried straight after him and met him by the Jeep. “Are you going after Y/N?”

Internally, Beau sighed, but he knew they didn’t have time for a discussion.

“Get in! Y/N’s in trouble.”

July 2021

“Been a minute,” Beau said as you hopped into the driver’s seat of the SUV. He forced a smile, one he had hoped would conceal his nervousness appropriately. He even let you drive – just so he could get back into your good graces.

If that wasn’t a peace offering, he didn’t know what was.

“Uh-huh…”

Beau wanted to sigh but refrained from doing so. That would’ve probably just annoyed you. He was handing you an olive branch, and you were throwing it into the wood chipper. He supposed he had to live with that.

After the drunk debacle and a dire hangover that almost cost him his job, Beau knew he had to crawl back to Cody. He actually apologized, bootlicked and cowered, and then submissively asked to be partnered up with you again. And after all of that, the dick still had said no.

You went undercover shortly after, and Beau went back home, giving his failing marriage another shot. The old college try. Well, Carla didn’t appreciate any of it. Too little, too late, she’d said.

Now, both of you were back, and the only reason Beau was allowed to share a car with you again was because you had explicitly requested it. Beau had been surprised to hear that, frankly, but it gave him hope things could be repaired. Maybe that had been your idea of extending an olive branch.

“Thanks, you know,” Beau said and focused his gaze on his clasped hands in his lap. “I know you put in the request to be my partner again.”

“Kinda had to,” you scoffed and pushed the key into the ignition, maybe a little too forcefully for the occasion. “No one in the team wants to work with you anymore. They were practically begging me to take you back. You’re a real people person, aren’t you?”

Alright, maybe it wasn’t exactly a full branch.

Had he sulked? Been moody? Absentminded in recent weeks?

Yes, absolutely.

“Still, thanks…” Beau licked his lips. He wanted to make things right – but how? “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened. I am. I swear to you nothin’ like it will ever happen again, alright?”

For a mere second, you stopped every movement. His words sunk in. No, it was exactly what you wanted all along.

Right?

“Good.”

“Alright, then…” Beau exhaled a sigh. He didn’t know what he’d expected to hear, but that answer surely left more to desire. Not to mention, the thousands of questions that gnawed on him like nasty termites.

You started the car and reversed out of the spot, thinking and hoping this conversation was over – once and for all. Bury the goddamn hatchet six-feet-under. But Beau seemed to have a different idea of how you two would spend your afternoon:

“If that’s what you want…”

He said it so passive-aggressively it bordered on childish. What the hell was he aiming for? Had he gone mad?

“It’s what I want.”

You’d be damned if you got roped into this one. Beau Arlen would not drag you down into the pits of hell with him. But hesitation had come before your answer, and Beau had noticed.

“You sure?”

For fuck’s sake!

Mind, you still had to navigate out of that incredibly tight parking spot with that fucking gigantic car (and not looking like a damn fool when doing so) while that idiot next you, your partner, kept yapping on. And mind, if you did indeed mess up, he’d surely (and not helpfully) inform you why he never let you drive.

“I’m sure.”

Beau nodded. Not in acceptance – he was thinking. “Just answer me one question…”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Bringing the SUV to a screeching halt, you both jolted forward into your seatbelts. Another driver leaving the parking lot honked behind you for blocking their way.

“Fuck off!” you yelled, leaning halfway out the rolled down window.

“You want me to dri–”

“Nope.”

“Alright, then.”

That asshole…

Then silence fell. You didn’t move, though, and Beau didn’t pressure you to. The car kept running till you turned it off and sunk back into your seat.

“Why are you so mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.”

“I don’t think the punishment fits the crime.”

“Oh, I think it does.”

Beau rubbed his lips with his thumb and finger and stared out the window. Again, he was thinking. He might as well have taken up chess as a leisure activity.

Was he weak if he wanted to fight?

“Look, if you’re only this mad ‘cause you think you’d just be my rebound, then you should know that never would’ve been the case, alright?”

Beau looked at you, and you met his eyes. You were scared to admit it, even to yourself, but your feelings were harder to ignore when you stared at him.

“I wouldn’t have risked our friendship for nothin’,” he muttered under his breath.

“Don’t.” You clutched the steering wheel in your grasp a little tighter.

“So, what? We just never talk about it?”

Beau knew in that moment that, whatever he felt, it wasn’t just a simple crush that would dissipate over time. It would stay. How was he supposed ignore an elephant this big?

“That’s exactly what we’re supposed to do,” you stated. How could you explain it in a way he’d understand? “Beau, it can’t-…It can’t be you… It just can’t be. You with me on this one?”

“I’m with you.” His heart drowned in disappointment, but he gave you a promise nonetheless, telling you he’d let it rest for good. “Guess I got my answer…”

“Hood’s still warm,” Beau said, removing his palm from your car. It had taken him twelve minutes to race here, knowing he’d never be fast enough to stop it. Your vehicle was here, but you weren’t. “Her gun’s still here, too.”

“Found her phone. Door’s still locked. She never went inside,” Randy said, standing in front of the trailer. “No signs of blood, though.”

“He probably took her somewhere else,” Beau mused, his gut telling him the exact place.

“One of those bunkers?”

“Would be my guess, yeah,” Beau confirmed and rubbed his beard. Everything inside him tried to keep calm, tried not to panic, even though his head was booming and his heart was exploding with worry.

“Why would she leave her phone here? Maybe there’s something on here,” Randy said and proceeded to type in your passcode. Only it wasn’t yours anymore. “She changed it,” he realized with a swallow and found Beau’s eyes. “Do you-, uhm…”

“Yeah,” was all Beau said and proceeded to type in the correct code. Your phone unlocked, but that accomplishment surely came with a price, judging by Randy’s sulking expression. “Last call was to me. Says here her storage is full, but the video was still saved.”

“What video?”

As the men started the clip, they caught your entire conversation with Hal Turner – with his voice and face on tape. Turner held you at gun point before slowly leading you to a car and out of frame. The noise of a starting engine could be heard before it all falls silent and dark.

“Why would she record this? If she had taken it with her, we could’ve tracked it,” Randy said with a frown.

But Beau shook his head. “Turner would’ve probably dumped her phone somewhere before they ever even reached their destination. She didn’t think she’d make it out alive,” he realized bitterly. His heart grew heavier with every passing second. “She recorded it as evidence… in case he killed her.”

As soon as he uttered those words, everything fell into place. Everything made sense. And Beau wanted to break down right then and there.

If something happened to you…

Grabbing his phone, Beau called Jenny’s number. “Hoyt! Turner took her. They can’t be far. Lock everything down, you understand me? Get everybody out of the station and on the streets. Have forensics come by my trailer… Yeah, alright. I’ll meet you here.”

He ended the call with a strenuous exhale. Although he wanted to, he knew there wasn’t more he could do. Driving down roads, running aimlessly through the woods… He knew there was no way he could ever find you.

Unless he had help.

“We need to find her,” Randy stated the obvious.

“You think?!”

Beau wasn’t mad at Randy. He was angry with himself. If he hadn’t kicked you out this morning, you would’ve been by his side. You would’ve spent the day together. You would’ve come home together. He would’ve been here when you needed him.

“Stop yelling at me! You know I like to think out loud!”

Beau ground his jaw and rubbed his aching temples. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Look, I’m just worried.”

“And you think I ain’t?!”

“Randy–” Beau sighed loudly and stretched out the tension in his shoulders. “Let’s not turn this into some weird competition, alright? We’re both worried. End of story.”

Randy scoffed and rolled his eyes, defiantly crossing his arms over his jacket. “Whatever, man.”

“Look, if we’re gonna work this thing together, I think we need some ground rules. You with me on this one, buddy?”

“I ain’t your buddy.” Randy exhaled a long breath and pondered for a moment with a sour expression on his face. Eventually, he nodded his agreement. “But I’m with you. What did you have in mind?”

Bobbing his head, he thought for a second and scratched his jaw. “I don’t think we should talk about her.”

“She’s the one who’s missing. We’re trying to find her. I think we need to talk about her a little,” Randy argued, mostly out of spite.

But Beau was a patient man – sometimes. Another sigh passed his lips. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh, you mean I’m not supposed to make you uncomfortable by asking questions like, ‘Is Y/N’s passcode your guys’ anniversary date because she used to have our wedding anniversary as her code.’ Those kinda questions?” Randy asked mockingly.

“Uh-huh… That would be a stellar example of what I meant,” Beau said with a pressed smile. He knew this wouldn’t be easy by a long shot, but he was willing to try and make it work. “Second – no sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“Yes, you do. I don’t wanna worry about you anytime my relationship with Y/N even remotely comes up. It happened. Get over it.”

“Get over it?!” Randy gasped. Granted, Beau knew he could’ve chosen better words. “You know, those rules start to sound a lot like just a list of things that are supposed to make you less uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well…” Beau scratched the back of his neck. “You can add somethin’.”

A peace offering.

Randy nodded, accepting said offer. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Third rule: You’re not allowed to pretend you’re the only one who cares about her. She’s my wife. I get to decide how we proceed.”

Beau’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he gritted.

“Which brings me to my fourth rule: You’re not the boss of me. You ain’t my sheriff.” Randy smirked, provoking in nature. Beau could tell he was proud of that rule.

Beau chuckled humorlessly. “You know, Randy, technically, you’re not a cop anymore. You’re a civilian. In my county. So yeah, I am your sheriff.”

Randy only grinned in return. “Well, good thing you can deputize me.”

Beau let another sigh pass between his lips. “Fine,” he agreed to Randy’s terms. “So, that’s it? Four rules? We’re not talking about our relationship with her, I’m not gonna boss you around, and we’re good?”

“We’re good.” Randy gave him a nod. “What are we allowed to talk about, though?”

Beau shrugged. “The case? Small talk, maybe?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Another shrug. “Football?”

Randy shook his head. “Haven’t seen a single game in three years.”

“Right.” Beau hadn’t thought of that. “Politics?”

Another head shake. “Haven’t seen the news either.”

“Uh-huh…” Then, an idea hit Beau. “You know what? That might not actually be the worst. Why don’t you ask me some stuff and I fill you in on what happened over the last few years, huh? Texans, Cowboys, Musk… Anything you wanna know, I’m an open book. Just ask away, man. Anything.”

Randy contemplated the suggestion for a beat. Then a smile rose on his lips and spread to his ears. Beau didn’t like it one bit.

“Alright… How’s Carla doing?”

Chapter 12: Through – JANUARY 3

Welp, let's end it here on a funny note and forget about all the drama of being kidnapped 😂

Posting will resume in the new year with the final two chapters, so stay tuned and happy holidays to you guys! ❤️🎄🥳🥂

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Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

[cinnamonsikwate]

watching the first 2 episodes of frieren last year shook me so bad i still can't get myself to continue it, but between what i remember of it and the nightmares episode of dungeon meshi i can't stop thinking about the ways laios would prepare marcille for his death. what would he leave behind to remind her that he (and by extension all the people she loved and who loved her) are still with her in spirit, even if not in body?

[possiblyfunny]

I forgot how to make posts, but don’t worry guys, I’m still alive-

Ghostly Assistance

Heyyy! I finally drew Leaf! (Plus a slight Aster redesign-) This took way too long, and I apologize for the delay and the overall messiness. She had been sitting in my drawing program as a sketch for two months 😅 but with the Flashbacks up starting in Missing Numbers, I finally got the will to finish it!

Leaf Aoyama belongs to @creatively-cosmic. They have a blog called @themissingnumbers, which you should check out, like—right now.

[Sketch + Extras below the cut!]

Here’s the cover of the book, if you wanted that- (I know it’s crap but I’m tired)

[And for those who are curious, some notes about the art:

-The book is Aster’s. He’s read the book cover to cover well over 25 times. It’s his favorite book on flowers, but he’s more than happy to lend it to someone who wants to learn about flora.

-The content of the art (because there was intended to be a background that got scrapped-) is that Aster was showing Leaf around his secret garden deep in the woods, guiding her so that she wouldn’t get lost and showing her the different flowers and such. (That’s why she has the book-)

-You know how in some video games, you can press a button and whatever special companion you have will show up to give you a hint? (Ex: Navi, Fi, Rotom, Olivia, etc) That’s what Aster is doing right now. Whenever Leaf had a question—he had the answers.

-And if you’re wondering—Yes. Aster did make her a flower crown afterwards. And Yes, he thinks she looks very beautiful with flowers in her hair.]

[solongshrimp]

Does anybody have pages 5-8 or 19-21 of pancaketiffy's Nautical Disaster anywhere? And does anyone know if the comic was ever continued past page 23? I wanna see if I can archive it somehow.

UPDATE: Did some more digging and found pages 19-21 (though two pages are labeled as page 21, which seems like an accident but they are two different pages, I'll have them listed in order,) as well as a 24th page. My guess is that that was the last page that was publicly released, but again, if anyone knows about pages past this point let me know.

So now all I need to find are pages 5-8, and any possible pages after 24.

UPDATE 2: Found page 7, so that leaves pages 5 and 8.

Pages I currently have:

Page 1 -- Page 2 -- Page 3 -- Page 4 -- Page 7 -- Page 9 -- Page 10 -- Page 11 -- Page 12 -- Page 13 -- Page 14 -- Page 15 -- Page 16 -- Page 17 -- Page 18 -- Page 19 -- Page 20 -- Page 21 -- Page 21 (b) -- Page 22 -- Page 23 -- Page 24

Concept Art -- Sketches -- Cover Sketch -- Cover WIP

[screwpinecaprice]

AT with @dragonuva!

This absolute unit, Imp Steven. 😁 I super love drawing himmmm!

Just some more rambling about the possible future of my regular commissions under the cut.

As my laptop got (fixed?) adjusted recently, I've used this opportunity to try out if it can now handle regular commission work. It started to show something's up on the mild rendering process but the lag and laptop heating didn't actually got that bad until a bit further in the full rendering process. Still has a limitation it seems. I'm planning on testing it a second time on a different piece, then I'll decide whether regular commissions will be fully back the next month or not.

[moonfromearth]

- ...

Day 12 - The Killer "Iconic. The bringer of doom. It gives them pleasure to pick of the cast, reveling in their own cat and mouse game. No matter their backstory, it always leads to slaughter in the end."

from @windbrook's Slashed Challenge.

[e77y]

It is so cold on this goddamn bus. Please. Help

[runawayfuture]

concept art for my AU where the church lets House Gautier hold on to the dragon sign in case they didn't have a kid with a Crest and so Miklan doesn't get kicked out and he loves his little brother and everything is Fine Actually