#thread : kate + open

[yoakenouta]

ㅤㅤ" ... COULD you please not stare at Kate so much ? It's rather off-putting. "

[romanphoenix]

——- The sudden shift caused roman to feel a bit confused, almost wondering if somehow he made up what happened — it was all in his head. it felt too real though and he also rather liked it. however it was nothing — surely nothing. who really would want more than a hook up with a charming actor ? yup — he was just lost in the moment, he convinced himself. while normally having a bit of an edge to him — just feeling he always needed to guard himself and do things for himself, he furrowed his brows some at kate.❝ has it been a bit before someone actually generally complimented you ? tried to make you feel good ? make you smile ? ❞ he questioned but when she stepped back to gaze out the window. he sat on the ground for a moment, let out a sigh and closing his hazel eyes for a moment — thinking that feeling he had passed through him was bittersweet and too good to be too, surely. how could it be more ? they still didn't know each other that well, but the british actor truly wanted to know her more if she'd let him that is. one think he knew for sure was to never push it. picking his head up at her words he opened his mouth to speak but not a word came out. blinking a couple times before slowly standing back up, putting his hands in his pockets and closing his eyes again. ❝ i'm not sure what you heard — but i've never lied or heard that's just an actor thing. i've felt ashamed, neglected, hurt and unwanted, but never lied. i didn't even want to be some actor, i wanted to do music as writing was always an escape from the life i had. ❞ roman explained, just speaking, not really sure why. opening his eyes once more to look at kate. ❝ there's many pretty girls and guys out there — but i see the beauty in you that you don't see, and i asked you, not them. you can say no — but, if you change your mind.. ❞ he trailed off, questioning what he was trying to do right now before instead saying. ❝ if you'd allow me — i'd love to get to know you. you seem great and like maybe - others don't appreciate you. i relate so, maybe it's caused some attraction. ❞

Kate thought for a moment, about his words, and how suddenly she wondered if they were true. Why did she care? She shouldn't. The softness of her smile begun to fade, as the facade she hid behind began to rise up in its place. A scoff left her lips, and she shook her head.

"A goddess? Pft. Please, you must be joking..." Their challenge had been thrown to the back of her mind, as she tried to comprehend this feeling she felt inside. She liked it... the compliments, but... she'd never had someone speak so generously about her before. It was a confusing notion to understand.

She took a step back, turning her head to look out of the glass barriers and out at the ocean.

"People don't take me out." It was true, she'd never been on anything considered a date before. It had never been her style - or maybe that was because she'd never been given the opportunity. "You're just lying. Isn't that what you actors are good at, lies?" She sounded out the last word with snark in her tone.

"There's loads of other pretty girls out there... you wouldn't want to be seen with me."

@romanphoenix

[prettymvgic]

closed starter for @grav3encovnters

she   had   teased   him   all   night   and   now   she   finally   had   him   in   his   bed   ;   and   handcuffed.   she   straddled   his   waist   for   a   moment   knowing   she   could   have   him   anyway   she   pleased   but   she   didn't   want   that   -   not   him,   she   wanted   his   money   &   she   knew   that   he   had   plenty   of   it.   with   a   wide   grin,   she   lowered   herself   down.   

"now,   don't   take   this   personal   but   ...   where's   the   safe?" 

[nxttheendxfthestxry]

"Really, I don't care how I'm viewed. I know who I am, and that's good enough."

[morethanweseem]

"I thought you were gonna remember where we parked."

[lcstloyalty]

( Kate ; open starter -- mutuals only )

        ❝ I haven't... uh, I haven't smiled like that in weeks- months, maybe. ❞ A small smile curled the corners of her lips, her eyes downcast. ❝ Thanks for that. Really. ❞

[savingthrcw]

@fantasywritten asked: ❛ can’t you see how much you hurt me? ❜ (Sawyer to Kate oof)

Kate's heart dropped, and she felt the usual feeling of wanting to crawl out of her own skin, to leave all the wrongness behind. She knew she was toxic, especially when she forgot to keep distance, because his presence alone brought up everything she wanted to forget about herself. "Yes." God, she didn't need this. She needed them to fight, she needed him to be a jerk, to be Sawyer, to make things easier for her - not this guy, not the one who looked at her like that, like he would actually play house with her after everything he had seen. Why did he keep trying? "It's what I do. You know that."

She should have left then, with that half accusation that he knew what he was getting into. Hand on the door handle, she should've gone back to Jack like he had said she would, to someone safer who wouldn't make her question everything. It's what I do. I run.She looked at the door, but didn't pull the handle. "I don't want to."

[romanphoenix]

——- Deep down, roman was a bit of a mess himself — he wanted pretty much what he was trying to give kate, someone to show him he was beautiful and wanted. though in a deeper manner — which was a double edge sword and he was scared himself to give that much. dating never worked, and sticking to no emotional connection flirts and hook ups became the best thing to him. though aside from that there was being an actor. it had roman stressing over being the big name he was becoming and everyone acting like they knew him and fans all over him. his own fears and trust issues didn't even start with failed dates, family wasn't ideal either not feeling the most wanted there except with his aunt. ❝ ah yes — i want to enjoy crushes from fans fighting over me like a piece of meat, as if we'd actually become the next item. oh and the thinking they know me at all from a few interviews and social media posts. ❞ acting wasn't the issues — the fans and fame was but it all was apart and roman dealt as he could. though he also kept a lot to himself and tried to appear at as little places as possible and just hide away at home, mostly. ❝ do you think you might ? ❞ running his fingers through his blond dyed hair, still craving to darken it again as he preferred it. when she stepped towards him, the british actor gave more of his attention to her. ❝ had no idea i was so fun. i guess — as crazy as it sounds, i missed you. when you were away — i guess it got to me. ❞

Kate wondered what was going through his head, wishing she could get inside his mind and roam around. He seemed different, not himself. Maybe she'd been too cold, and should have allowed him entry past her exterior. But it was difficult for her, when she'd been so scared all her life of becoming one of those people that gets hurt by another. She'd watched it happen to her sister enough times.

"How come? Don't you want to bask in the glory of being this month's celebrity crush?" She kind of hoped he didn't. She had no right to him, no claim, but the thought of everyone throwing themselves all over him sent fuel to her fiery streak. "Who says I wouldn't have interest in it?" Her curiousity peaked, especially when he turned away from her. She pushed herself up to her feet, taking steps towards him. "What's going on? You're, like... not fun."

@romanphoenix

[arcadia-smith]

He doesn't remember you.

But.

You stay.

Of course, you stay.

Because Bucky is still here, alive in the flesh, and somewhere—deep inside him, hidden beneath the layers of fractured memories—he must know you. He must remember.

It’s just a matter of time.

That’s what Sam says. What the doctors say.

Give it time.

So you do.

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into months.

And still, you stay.

You tell him stories—soft and steady, like a balm for the ache between you. You show him pictures, snapshots of the life you once shared, the love that stitched you two together.

You speak of your first date—how his nerves made him fidget like a storm on the horizon, pacing outside your apartment for what felt like an eternity before he finally knocked, all shaky hands and warm, unsure eyes.

You tell him about that rainy night, when he kissed you under the storm, his laughter a low hum against your lips as he whispered, “This only happens in the movies.”

You tell him about you—the version of yourself that once fit perfectly against his side.

And you wait.

You wait for the spark—the brief, flickering recognition that he once knew the rhythm of your heartbeat, the warmth of your touch.

You wait for those blue eyes to soften again, to look at you the way they used to—tender, loving, yours.

But they never do.

And then, one day, after all the days, weeks, and months spent watching and hoping—

You find him in the common room, grinning at something on his phone.

Someone.

A woman.

She’s bright, beautiful—her laughter a melody you don’t recognize.

And before you even open your mouth, you know.

But still, you ask.

“Who’s that?” Your voice is light, fragile, like a leaf trembling in the wind.

He looks up, then back at the screen, that faint, soft smile still lingering.

“Her name’s Kate.”

It’s a gut-punch. The kind that steals the air from your lungs and leaves you gasping.

“Oh,” you whisper, trying to swallow the burning sorrow that claws its way up your throat. “She’s... she’s pretty.”

He grins—wide, unbothered, as though this is just another casual conversation, nothing more.

“Yeah. I think I might ask her out.”

And in that moment, everything inside you fractures.

Not just the silence between the two of you, but the world itself.

Because Bucky doesn’t remember you.

No. Worse.

He’s moving on.

Without you.

And you can’t stop it.

You can’t tear through his shattered mind and fix what they took from him.

You can’t scream, You love me. You chose me. We were supposed to have forever.

You can’t do a single thing.

So you smile.

You nod.

You pretend that you’re not being swallowed whole by the hollow ache inside you.

And that night, when the house falls silent and empty, you don’t leave the porch light on.

Because Bucky isn’t coming back.

He already has.

And he’s not yours anymore.

You leave.

You have to.

Because staying, watching him laugh with someone else—someone new, someone with a love untouched by the scars of time—it would be like breathing in glass shards. It would tear through you, piece by piece, until nothing remained. You would cease to exist.

So you gather your things in silence, each item a memory you can’t afford to carry anymore.

You say goodbye to Sam, but there is no promise in your words. No hope. Just the hollow echo of a love you can’t save. You don’t tell Bucky. What would be the point? He’s already gone. The man you once knew is somewhere behind the locked door of his memories, and there is no key.

You leave.

And time doesn’t care.

It moves on, cruel and indifferent. Days stretch into weeks, weeks bleed into months, and the seasons change in ways that mean nothing. You rebuild, slowly. The edges of your broken heart are sealed with the soft, fragile thread of survival. You learn to exist without him. You learn to wake up without him beside you, without his breath against your neck, without the weight of his love settling around you like a warm blanket. You learn to live with the dull ache, the phantom throb in the places where he used to be.

But there are moments.

There are mornings when your fingers twitch toward the space where he should be, when your heart stutters, trapped in a fleeting memory, a touch, a whisper. And you wonder, just for a second, if he’s still there—if you’re still there. But then, the thought fades. Because he’s not yours. Not anymore.

And then—

Then you get the call.

Sam's voice is a tightrope, fraying at the edges.

"I need you to come back."

You hesitate, your breath a jagged thing. You don’t want to. You can’t go back to that place, to those ghosts. The last time you left, you left your soul in the hollow of his chest, and it never returned.

But Sam's voice cracks in a way that makes your insides twist. And you can’t ignore it. Not this time.

So you go.

And when you step into the room, you’re not ready for it. You’re never ready.

Sam stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, like he hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten. His hands tremble at his sides, and there’s something in his eyes that says everything you don’t want to hear.

"It’s happening again."

At first, the words make no sense.

And then, they do.

Because Bucky is in the med bay, his body tethered to the bed, his arms thrashing against the restraints. His breath comes in ragged gasps, the panic clear in every movement. His eyes are wide, full of something deep—something more terrible than fear.

You run to him, despite everything, despite the emptiness he left behind. You run because he is still your Bucky, the man you loved with everything you had. You run because that’s all you’ve ever known how to do.

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice a breathless plea. Your hand reaches for his, but he pulls away like your touch is a thing that burns.

And then—

He says your name.

And the world stops.

The earth cracks beneath you, and you feel yourself falling into a place where nothing makes sense. The thing you wanted most, the thing you prayed for, is here. He remembers. He remembers you.

But when you look into his eyes, it’s not relief that fills them. It’s horror.

“No,” he gasps, shaking his head violently, as if to shake you away, to shake this away. His words tear from him in broken sobs. “No, no, no—please—”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you thought you could carry. But it’s not okay. It will never be okay.

His chest heaves. His body jerks, as though the memories are too much to hold, too much to be.

“What did I do?” he chokes.

And that is when you understand.

He remembers you. Yes, he does. He remembers everything.

But he also remembers her.

The woman he found after you, the woman he learned to love after he’d forgotten the taste of you. The woman who is out there, somewhere, still holding his heart, still waiting for him with arms wide open.

And he loves her. He loves her the way he loved you. But in a different way. In a way that isn’t stained with time and loss and the weight of your name.

And now—

Now he has both.

Now he has the knowledge of what he lost. Now he knows exactly what he did.

And in his eyes, you see the depth of his grief. The depth of his guilt. Because he remembers her. And he remembers choosing her.

And then—then he remembers forgetting you.

And that—

That is the part that will ruin you. Because it’s not just your heart breaking anymore.

It’s his, too.

And there is nothing either of you can do. No mending, no fixing, no magic words to erase the damage.

So you press your trembling hand to his cheek. You kiss his forehead, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it’s like you’re right back there—like nothing changed. Like the world hasn’t fallen apart in slow motion.

And you whisper to him, to the man you thought you could save:

“It’s okay. I’ll go.”

And you do.

You leave.

For the last time.

Because this time, he remembers you. But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s not yours.

And he never will be again.

And that—that—is the worst part.

Because you lost him once, but now, you’ve lost him twice.

And the pain? The pain is deeper than anything you’ve ever felt.

It’s not just a heart breaking.

It’s a soul shattering.

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 2

-…. ….- ..—- .—— / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. . -.. / -.. . .- -..

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: Very light sexual content, allergic reaction bad enough to need medical intervention, panic, dissociation

Johnny lay in the nest, warmed by Kyle who had shifted to fill the chill that John left when he had gone to answer the door. Simon lazily trails his nose over Johnny’s scent gland, drawing a light whimper from his throat.

Kyle leans in and presses their lips together, coaxing as his hand begins to trace muscles. Johnny settles a hand on Simon’s thigh, running his fingers through the hair he found there. They were off duty for another two weeks and taking full advantage of Simon’s oncoming rut. He would only be deeply affected for 48 hours but the men always pooled their leave times to give them an extra week off.

This being the third year of them taking a few weeks off for each of their ruts/heats the rest of the large team knew and adjusted for the absence of their leader and core team. Kate kept track of everyone on their specific jobs.

Simon started to harden up behind Johnny. Hands drifting over his body had Johnny closing his eyes and leaning into his lovers. The teeth at his nipple surprised him to the point of recoiling. Simon had the misfortune of resting at the edge of the bed. He hit the floor with a thump. Kyle and Johnny shared a look before they both started to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So funny,” Simon stood, rubbing his butt that had taken the brunt of the fall.

The men on the bed smirked as they now watched Simon stand a bit more at attention under their eyes. Before they can get Simon back into the nest John steps into the bedroom, shutting the door hard behind him.

They watch as John strips off his robe and strides into the shared closet. Kyle can only open his mouth before John is answering the yet-unspoken question.

“We need to get dressed. Kate brought us a wife.”

That had all of them moving. What the hell did he mean?

Scrambling into the closet each of them grabs the necessary clothes before shifting to standing around the nest so everyone has the elbow room they need to dress.

“John, what do you mean Kate brought us a wife?” Kyle asks after his head emerges from his turtleneck.

“Kate brought us a beta woman. She would like us to stop being so reckless on jobs. Thinks that having someone to come home to will keep us from killing ourselves on jobs.” John sits to put his socks on, threading a socked foot into his pants before standing and doing them up.

“So what’s the plan then Captain?” Simon questions as he feeds his belt through the loops of his pants. “Obviously we don’t need a beta.”

“A wife wouldn’t be terrible though,” Johnny pointed out as he tucked his thin layer into his pants and grabbed his own jumper. A bonnie to hold and smile at them when they stumble in through the door? That sounded amazing to him.

“The plan is Johnny and Kyle will be taking her to town for some clothes and a bed. Kate insists she gets a bed and a space to retreat to. Simon, I want you to see what you can sniff out from her clothes. Maybe check what Kate has been up to lately.” John pauses, shirt tucked into his armpits as he prepares to lift it over his head. “Something about her smells…wrong. You have a more sensitive nose than I do, I need your opinion on her. I’ll start working on cleaning out the room behind the kitchen.”

“What are Kyle and I watching for then John?” Johnny runs a hand over his hair, deciding that he wouldn’t need to do much about it since he would be putting on a beanie shortly.

“Anything we can glean from her. She didn’t say much after Kate left. Watched me until I came upstairs, lot of thoughts behind those eyes though. You’ll see what I mean.” John opened the door that led to the stairs.

They all trailed after him. John had been right. Something smelled off about you. Almost broken? It reminded Johnny of the time Simon said his sauce had “broke” and the fats and water and flavors no longer sat well together.

You are standing at the front window, staring out over the vast stretch of forest they owned all around the property. They had chosen this spot deliberately five years ago when they were buying land to build their home on. It backed up to a national forest and they would never have to worry about neighbors.

Johnny approaches you around the couch. You pull back slightly from the window and notice the fog your breath left on the glass. A finger is lifted, leaving a frowny face in its wake. When you turn to look at him Johnny sees what John meant about your eyes.

You don’t leak scents of displeasure or fear like anyone else would in this situation; no, the feelings bubble in your eyes instead. Your stress sat in your shoulders and the slight bend in your knees, not in your scent gland.

“‘ello, you can call me Johnny. We’re going to town to get you supplies for your room.” He smiles gently at you. You only narrow your eyes in response. “Where did Kate put your coat?”

You look from eye to eye three times before answering. “Kate didn’t get me a coat. Only had cash and she said I needed clothes more.”

Johnny liked Kate. He had never wanted to slap her more than in this moment though. Nodding once he lifted a hip to rest on the couch as he folded his arms. You wince as his anger is communicated through the air. Simon complained that his anger tasted of burning rubber.

“I have a coat you can borrow until we get you one in town. Would that be okay?” He probes gently.

The narrowing of your eyes is exactly what he expected. You were going to take a long time to trust them.

“How about we get the truck started and then you only need to wear it between the house and the car?” Johnny offered.

“Fine.” You cross your arms and cast your gaze back to the snow beyond the window.

Twisting Johnny catches Kyle’s eye as he lurks in the kitchen.

“Grab my coats would you?” He tilts his head to their new wife as if Kyle hadn’t heard the conversation echo due to the acoustics of the home.

Kyle grabs both coats from the closet near the front door and drops a kiss on Johnny’s lips before leaving to start the truck. John catches him with a kiss and a whisper. Johnny offers both coat options to you and watches with a smile as you grab the coat that smells less strongly of him.

By unspoken agreement Kyle and Johnny let you learn about them through the conversations they have during the drive. It takes nearly an hour despite the roads being clear and dry. The tourists creeping their way up the mountain roads always slowed things down. Kyle dropped you and Johnny off to head further into town to pick up a bed frame and a mattress.

Johnny watches you as you drift from store to store. They lived close to a ski resort and had several stores that sold everything from socks to pants and coats. You picked soft clothes, muted colors, and several of the same socks and underwear. He only saw your face light up once. You were softly stroking a garishly bright shawl as you held it up to the mirror. When you saw Johnny lift his brows at you in said mirror you put it back and moved on. He made note of its position in the store before following you.

When Kyle came back Johnny filled the back seat with the various bags.

“‘bout time for lunch, any preference?” Kyle asks you.

You shake your head looking much warmer in real winter boots and a long coat. Johnny had insisted at the last store visited that you needed a hat and a scarf as well. Hands shoved into your pockets you are covered as Simon is on jobs, nose tucked against the cold.

It is decided that a new Thai spot would be the answer. Johnny pulls the keys from Kyle’s hand and a kiss.

“I’ll be right there,” he murmured against his cheek before turning and disappearing around a corner.

When he slides into the booth next to you the food is hot and ready on the table.

“Didn’t know what you would like so I got a platter for the table,” Kyle hands you a bundle, a napkin wrapped around a fork, and a spoon.

Conversation flows, Kyle and Johnny are careful to leave space for you to add your thoughts on matters like what they should have for dinner or if they should roast marshmallows in the fire tonight. You pick at your food and watch them watch you. When Johnny and Kyle have eaten their fill and boxed up the remaining food they settle the bill and you follow them into the grocery store next door to the restaurant.

Kyle, ever practical, heads up the pharmacy first. You and Johnny follow.

He tosses a box of condoms to Johnny who catches it with ease, even with his off-hand.

“Do we need any of these?”

This is cause for you to break your silence.

“You won’t need those for me.” You are cut off with a cough, fist to your face.

“These aren’t for you, but why wouldn’t you need them?” Johnny glances over at you, brow cocked.

Your hand has moved, cupping your throat as you cough into your other elbow. A light sweat has started across your face and the coughs are getting harsher. When wheezing starts and your body begins to crunch in on itself Johnny takes off for a different section of the pharmacy.

Hollering at the pharmacist behind the counter he points your direction, “I need an epipen!”

The pharmacist tosses it to him over the counter and low shelves between them as she darts for the door. Johnny doesn’t wait, racing back to you. He couldn’t hear much over the racing of his heart. They hadn’t even had a wife for six hours and she was dying on them!

Kyle has you laid out on the floor as you gasp for air. Sliding in next to you as if he were stealing a base Johnny removes the EpiPen from its travel case, uncaps and presses his thumb down to the top, and slams home the needle into your outer thigh.

He starts counting to thirty, the pharmacist appearing at his side before he reaches ten. By fifteen you are gulping down air as tears steak into your hair.

“There is a clinic two buildings down from here.” She glances over you as she dials something on her phone. Fingers reach for your neck as she takes your pulse.

Kyle gently takes the hand batting at the pharmacist, placing a light kiss on the knuckles. You are sobbing now, heaving breaths and tears streaming down your temples.

“Hi, this is Dr. Kumar, the pharmacist down the street. I have a beta woman incoming with her partners for an allergic reaction. We have administered an EpiPen on site but since I am not an MD I am sending her to you to confirm she is okay.” Dr. Kumar pointed to Kyle with two fingers, then to you, and hooked at thumb toward the front door.

“We gotcha bonnie, we will keep you safe.” He murmured the mindless words of comfort at you, unable to keep from attempting to soothe you as your fear punched into his nose. Interesting, that.

Johnny pulled the pen from your leg, needle already retracted, and passed it off to Dr. Kumar as he helped sit you up. Breaths are coming easier already, your skin is clammy and your eyes wild. You hold onto Johnny’s hand like the last life raft from the Titanic. Kyle shifts his hands under your thighs, standing to the gasps of several old women. Johnny caught sight of them fanning themselves as they pushed through the crowd that had formed.

Dr. Kumar, still on the phone, directed people out of the way with a sharp word and saw them off at the door, face worried. Johnny nodded to her once as he kept pace with Kyle. Thank the gods that John ensured they all stayed in top form.

Your words are getting clearer the closer they get to the clinic.

“Please don’t let them touch me. Don’t leave me alone. Please. Please. Please.”

“We won’t leave you alone,” Kyle shifted one arm to hold you, rubbing your back with the other. “Just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am going to call John, can you handle this until I get off the phone?” Johnny winces at the tight grip you have on his hand. “Lass, Kyle will kill anyone who tries to hurt you.”

They pause outside the clinic where Johnny works his fingers free of yours. The look of panic on your face will haunt him until he dies.

Kyle chokes slightly as you clamp down on his neck with your arms. The clinic staff opened the door for him, ushering him straight to the back room. Johnny dials John’s number from memory rather than searching for it. Cars drift past him as he waits He picks up on the third ring.

“How is it going with our new wife, Johnny?” He grunts as if moving something heavy.

“Poorly. We nearly lost her in the pharmacy.”

“Well did you find her?” John huffs, slightly out of breath.

“Na John, she had an allergic reaction to something from lunch. Had to stab her in the leg with an EpiPen. Kyle is in the clinic with her right now.” Johnny crushed a small ball of ice and snow beneath his boot on the sidewalk.

“The fuck happened Johnny?” The sounds from the phone tell him that Simon is now listening too.

“Don’t know John, had lunch at the new Thai restaurant, went to the pharmacy and she started to cough and then couldn’t breathe. Kyle got her to lie down and I got meds from the pharmacist. Kyle is in the clinic with her now. I’ve never seen someone so panicked to go to the doc,” Johnny shoves his other hand in a pocket, focusing on crushing another ball of ice.

“Hold on, I am calling Kate,” John warns. The line goes silent.

Johnny looks into the clinic, seeing nothing beyond the simple decor and the receptionist behind the tall counter.

“Kate, our new wife had an allergic reaction at lunch. Is there anything else she should know about her?” John questions with barely contained rage.

A sigh is the only response at first.

“I don’t know John. I haven’t found all of her records yet.”

“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t found her records yet Kate? Where did you find her?”

“John, all I have on her is from the two weeks before the FBI raided. There is a lot I can’t tell you but what I can say on this unsecured line is you should do some research on arachnids.”

She drops off the line with a click. Scowling at the distance Johnny bites back the urge to start yelling at Kate. More riddles and questions.

“Get her home, Simon and I will clear out the peanuts from the house,” John sighs into his ear.

“Why peanuts? It could have been anything in the meal.” Johnny watches as a group of skiers, colorful as tropical birds, walk across the street on the opposite side.

“Could have been, but a swipe of peanut butter on her hand when she gets back will confirm. It’s a really common allergy and we won’t have time to take her for an allergy test until after Simon’s rut.”

Johnny nods to himself and then verbalizes his agreement before ending the call. The receptionist leads him straight back when he steps through the door.

You sit on the bed, eyes wide and light gone from them, quietly singing Edelweiss. Kyle stands with arms folded and back stiff. His work face is on. Something had happened.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand as he settled into a chair conveniently next to the bed. You stay distant until halfway through the drive home.

A/N: I did not mean for it to go this way... I keep fighting with myself to let everyone live to the end of the story....

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

[ssahotchnerr]

Can you even imagine Hotch’s little girl grabbing his phone and sending random pics to the bau group chat LOL. And it’s all candid pics of reader 🥲🥲🥲🥲 but of course the team is like “oh so you’re WHIPPED” 🤭

a good morning

PLEASE cw; girl dad!aaron, set in s10, fluff <3

At promptly nine, Aaron entered the roundtable room. As he settled into his seat, Dave didn't hesitate to toss him an extremely amused, cheeky expression.

"You feeling alright there?"

"You had a good morning."

Aaron's eyebrows quirked at his statement, quickly recalling his day so far. Getting himself up, getting the kids up, heading out the door. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact he actually had the time to sit down and eat breakfast. "I suppose I did, yeah."

Kate snorted a laugh. "You 'suppose?'"

Aaron's quizzical expression lingered, his gaze shooting to hers. She clarified further - her face just as smug as Dave's.

"Your texts."

Confused, Aaron pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened messages, taking notice of the time in the corner - the most recent activity in the group chat about an hour ago. He tapped it open.

"Oh," He chuckled, a soft smile forming on his face as he saw its contents. "Ellie had my phone."

He hadn't noticed she had been taking pictures. He remembered giving her his phone - in attempt to refrain her from throwing her Cheerios onto the floor. Her tiny hands had struggled to hold onto it, it thudding against the table a few times besides him, as he ran through a short multiplication practice with Jack - who had a test today. Evidently she must've secured a firm grasp, and took photos in the process.

"She sent those?"

Aaron nodded, the grin on his face growing slowly as he scrolled through the thread of pictures, his heart warming. They mainly consisted of you: smiling, placing a bowl of cereal in front of Jack, preparing your coffee at the counter; all candidly taken. His family in its most natural, loving state. "She must've."

"When'd she learn how to do that? Ellie's what, four?"

"Three." Aaron answered Derek, a chuckle shaking through his chest and he placed his phone back into his pocket. "And your guess is as good as mine. Jack probably, or from watching us. We don't allow her screen time."

"Well, you should take notes from her." JJ gave his shoulder a squeeze as she passed by, en route to her chair. "We don't nearly get enough of them."

[driedposies]

I'm so cold, let me in your window

Summary: You've always been sick. Your sisters hoped that becoming Made would cure you. Azriel believes you to be his punishment from the Mother.

Warnings: ANGST with no comfort, talks of illness & all its graphic details, character death.

Song inspiration: "Wuthering Heights" by Kate Bush & "This Night Has Opened My Eyes" by The Smiths

Word Count: 4.7k

Notes: I think I died writing this. The constant rain has put me in a mood. (and, yes, i did reference throne of glass)

The Town House stood like a brooding poem, its marble façade streaked with the memory of a hundred rains. Ivy clung to the walls, shivering in the wind, while the iron railings curled like sleeping serpents along the steps. The day was a sullen bruise, clouds pressing low, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and distant thunder.

Inside, the rooms were hushed and dim, shadows pooling in the corners, velvet curtains drawn back just enough to let the grey light seep in. On the second floor, in a chamber papered with faded violets, a young fae woman perched on the window seat, her knees drawn up beneath a quilt of moss green and silver threads. Her hair was knotted over her shoulders, catching the faintest glimmer from the world outside.

You watched the rain with wide eyes—eyes that held the memory of wild woods and sunlit glades, though they were rimmed with weariness. The glass was cool beneath her fingertips, trembling faintly from the drumming of the storm. Each drop traced a silvery path down the pane, racing its fellows, blurring the view of the garden below.

Lightning flickered, painting your features in fleeting gold. For a moment, your pointed ears and the faint shimmer of your skin seemed to glow with an inner light, a reminder of the magic that lingered, though your body felt heavy as rain-soaked branches. You breathed in the petrichor, longing for the taste of wind and wildflowers, for the freedom of running beneath open skies.

Beyond the closed doors of the room named yours, you could hear the quiet murmuring of your youngest sister. Feyre was once again conversing with Madja about remedies and teas to soothe your muscle aches and dry cough that had suddenly started to produce bloody mucus.

The wisps of darkness that lingered between your cotton handkerchief and lace collar told you Azriel was close by.

"I thought you said becoming Made would strengthen her body." Nesta was beyond the door now; a rare visit from her, especially now she had training and a fae man to keep her company. Not that you could be upset with her.

Nesta looked at you with those mourning grey eyes she had whenever she looked upon your Mother's grave.

Madja was letting out another heavy sigh—a sound she made when she saw no improvements. "It was an assumption; a sound judgement. Fae rarely get sick," Madja was repeating herself. "But no one knows the Cauldron's will and what gifts it shall extend. She was sick before she was Changed."

“So there is nothing that can be done to cure her?” Nesta was getting angry again, something Cassian was yet to crack through. 

“We’ve exhausted all known solutions. Priestesses have poured over every healing book and tome, and all of our contacts throughout Pyrthian have sent their theses and support,” Madja’s voice lowered, a courtesy meant for you. No one wished to utter or imply death in your presence. “All I can do now is keep her comfortable. Temper her fevers and chills, reduce the pains in her head, and keep her from developing pneumonia.”

There was a long silence that followed, grave and solemn. Your teeth began to gnaw at the peeling skin atop your bottom lip. You had already been instructed to apply one of the many balms when sores began to form, but the tin was all too far away for your aching knees. 

The conversation you weren’t meant to hear was making you anxious, and you needed something to fidget with. You used to pick at your fingernails—now wrapped after an episode of delirium, when your hands felt like a foreign appendage. 

“I’ll continue the search through the Day Court Libraries.” Azriel. No one dares remind him that the library had already been scoured through. 

Something moves within your throat, clawing for release. A handkerchief appears with a shadow in your palm as you start to cough up the fluid dripping down towards your lungs. Those behind the door scatter, conversation ending the moment they’re confronted with your awareness. 

As you pull the slip of cotton from your mouth, darkness swirled to mask the splotches of blood. A small forewarning to the one that remained. 

The door creaked—a soft, doleful sound—as Azriel entered. Shadows pooled around his boots like liquid obsidian, curling upward to cling to the hem of his leather tunic. His presence filled the room, a paradox of gentle enormity. Tall and broad-shouldered, with hands that could cradle a sparrow or shatter bone, he carried a tray steadied in his grip; a porcelain teapot painted with forget-me-nots, a cup of honeyed tea, and a small glass vial of iridescent medicine that shimmered like trapped starlight. 

He was nothing but Azriel to her; the terrifying Illyrian Shadowsigner reputation he carried was otherworldly to the reality in this closed chamber. Although you’d taken to calling him my shadow in your weaker moments, when fever made your tongue loosen—a fragment from an old folklore tale your Father told you before bed. 

Azriel paused just inside the threshold, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. You hadn’t turned from the window. Your silhouette—frail yet regal, like a birch sapling bent by wind—seemed to merge with the fogged glass. The sight pierced him, as it always did. His shadows stirred, restless, mirroring the ache in his chest. He called your name, a rumble softened by habit. 

His voice didn’t startle you anymore. Something ancient that strung you two together made you aware of him long before he spoke. Still, you waited a breath before turning, your lips curving into a smile you knew didn’t reach your eyes. 

“You’re late,” you teased, your voice a rasp. The cough had been worse today; you knew Azriel heard it through the walls at dawn, a hacking, wet sound that left you gasping.

Azriel set the tray on the walnut side table, its legs carved into strings of ivy. “The rain delayed the herbalist’s delivery. The roads are rivers.” Shadows still lingered at his wrists, tendrils retreating as he lifted the teapot. Steam spiralled upward, carrying the scent of ginger and thyme.

“Liar.” You tilted your head, hair slipping over your shoulder. “You stopped to argue with the baker again. The plums in the tarts weren’t ripe enough.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. You knew him too well. Months of shared silence, of glances held too long, had made you a cartographer of his habits. Azriel poured the tea, the liquid amber-gold in the gloom. “They weren’t ripe. You deserve better than a sour treat.”

“I deserve a swig of that sweet faewine and a gallop through boundless highlands,” you muttered, but accepted the cup, your fingers brushing his. A spark leapt between you—the soulbond’s relentless pull—and you flinched, nearly spilling the tea.

Azriel caught the cup, steadying it with a calloused hand beneath yours. He was close—almost too close—enough to wrap the scent of cedar and smoke around your mind. Your breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, you feared what he thought. You likely smelled of fever-sweat and familiar copper. 

His shadows writhed, seemingly wishing to curl around you, to seep into your lungs and scour the sickness from your blood. But this illness was a tricksy thing, resistant to fae magic and remedies. This plague had claws.    

“Drink,” Azriel ordered, softer than he intended.

You obeyed, wincing as the hot liquid slid down your raw throat. The medicine came next—a bitter draft you’d affectionately called star-sludge—and he watched your throat move as you swallowed, his own jaw tightening. When you finished, you pressed the vial back into his palm, your touch lingering.

“Tell me about the storm,” you asked suddenly, nodding toward the window. Rain lashed the glass now, blurring the world into a watercolour of greys and greens and browns.

Azriel sank into the armchair beside you, its upholstery worn velvet the colour of dried blood. “What’s to tell? It’s angry. Relentless. It’ll likely flood the garden by nightfall.”

“No.” You turned back to the window, your profile sharp against the gloom. “Tell it properly. Make it a story.”

Azriel stilled. You’d asked this of him often lately, as if his words could anchor you to the world. A memoir of his life, a tale in unknown lands, a favoured memory of his found family. He closed his eyes as shadows thickened around you, and the room seemed to sigh, the air growing heavy with the scent of ozone.

“The storm isn’t just rain,” Azriel began, voice low. “It’s the sky grieving. It weeps for the sun it hasn’t seen in days, for the swallows trapped in their nests. Each drop is a lament. Listen—” a rumble of thunder shook the walls, timed as if he’d commanded it “—that’s the thunder-drummers, pacing the clouds. Their beats shake the roots of the mountains. And the lightning?” He opened his eyes. A flash outside turned you into a gilded statue. “That’s the Queen of her Empire of Storms, cracking her whip to herd the winds.”

Your laugh was a fragile thing. “You’ve missed your calling. You should’ve been a bard, not a Spymaster,” you affirm softly, eyes wrinkling at the corners.  

The barb landed, though you hadn’t meant it to. Azriel looked away, scarred fingers digging into the arms of the chair. Spymaster. Shadowsinger. Assassin. Is that all you saw? A Night Court mercenary, not a male who’d burn cities to ash if it meant buying you one more breath?

You felt the shift in him. The bond throbbed, a second heartbeat. “Azriel, I—.”

A coughing fit seized you. It wracked your body, violent, your shoulders shaking as you doubled over. Azriel was there in an instant, one arm bracing your back, the other pressing a handkerchief to your lips. When the fit subsided, the cloth came away speckled with more blood. 

The silence that was always calm felt heavier than ever. 

Then, a whisper. “Don’t look at me like that,” you plead, unable to meet Azriel’s honeyed brown eyes. 

“Like what?” Azriel’s voice was gravel.

“Like I’m already a memory.”

Mist clung to the city of Velaris. Dawn’s pale fingers crept over the horizon, brushing the world with trembling gold, cracking through the dreary clouds. 

You’re at the window again, nursing ginger and lemongrass tea splashed with honey. It’s one of the very few things you can keep down now. It was as if your body was rejecting anything that gave you life—solid foods, medicine, pain relievers. 

There was a shadow brushing your knuckles, and you knew Azriel was hovering near. He watched you with worry etched in every line of his face, but you caught his gaze and smiled—a bright, reckless thing that belonged to another season.

“Let’s go outside,” you said, lighting your voice as if it were any other morning. “I want to feel the sun.”

Azriel hesitated. He saw the pallor beneath your skin, the way your breath caught, the faint shimmer of sweat along your brow. But your eyes—unyielding eyes—dared him to deny you. 

You rose, slow and careful, refusing his offered arm at first. You straightened your back, drawing yourself up with all the dignity you could muster, though your limbs quivered with the effort. Only when your knees threatened to buckle did you accept his support, your fingers cool in his rigid, callused palm.

“No further than the garden,” Azriel murmured as he wrapped a cotton shawl around your shoulders, leaving no room for argument.

Shadow leaked from every nook hidden in your room, smothering you both until you no longer were within the Town House. Stepping into the garden, the world awakened. Birds trilled in the branches, and the wind danced through the grass. You closed your eyes, lifting your face to the sun, letting the warmth paint your cheeks with fleeting colour. 

You moved among the wildflowers, trailing your fingers through the bluebells and foxglove, your laughter rising—soft, but real. For a moment, you felt like yourself again, warm and untouchable. You knelt to pluck a daisy, but the motion left you close to breathless, and Azriel could only watch how your shoulders shook as you steadied yourself.

Still, you pressed on, weaving a crown of petals, your hands deft despite their trembling. You placed it upon your head with a flourish, grinning up at him. “See? I am not so fragile.” 

Azriel knelt beside you, watching the sunlight flicker across your face, the shadows beneath your eyes deepening. “You are the bravest thing I have ever known,” he whispered, voice thick.

You laughed, the sound bright but edged with defiance. “I will not be a ghost in my own life, Azriel. Not yet.”

Azriel guided you through willows, curtain vines shaking at every breeze. You paused often, leaning on his arm, but you hid your pain behind stories and memories from a time before you were ill. The moment you stumbled, Azriel retreated to a stone bench, setting you down with all the patience in his bones. 

You wouldn’t allow yourself to be saddened over your weakening body, tiring over a mere walk through a garden. Azriel settles beside you, and for a peaceful moment, fears and worries evade you. 

For a time, you both listened to the chorus of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves above. Azriel’s hand found yours, your fingers entwined, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your knuckles. He turned towards the sky, watching the clouds shy from the sun, but your gaze was turned inward, your mind wandering places he could not follow.

At length, you spoke, your voice a fragile thing, barely more than a sigh. “Azriel?”

He turned to you, his expression open, forebearing.

You hesitated, your lips trembling with the weight of your question. “Do you think… do you think my sisters will lead happy lives, once I’m gone?”

The question hung between you, delicate and devastating. Azriel felt it settle in his chest, a stone dropped in still water, sending ripples of sorrow through his soul. He looked at you, at the way your spirit seemed to flicker and flare even as your body waned.

Azriel didn’t speak for a long, weighted pause. He was choosing his words with care. “I think your sisters will grieve. They will weep for you, and the world will feel emptier. You have given them so much—your laughter, your courage, your wildness. Those gifts will live on in them,” he answered. “But in time, the ache will soften.”

“I want so much for them,” You whispered. “I don’t want them to feel the weight of my absence.” 

Azriel’s hand squeezes yours. “They will carry you with them, always. You are not a shadow. You are the sunlight that lingers after the storm.”

You smiled, small and trembling. “Promise me you’ll look after them,” you urge, putting a considerable effort into returning his squeeze. 

“I promise.” Azriel nodded, his throat tight with emotion. 

Azriel was then looking away, hiding the strain in his jaw, the darkness in his whiskey eyes. 

The Town House was silent but for the soft crackle of the hearth, its embers painting the walls with restless shadows. Night pressed against the windows, thick and velvet, the stars hidden behind a shroud of cloud. Azriel sat hunched in the old armchair, a half-empty bottle of amber liquor cradled in his hand, his gaze fixed on the flames as if he could divine answers in their dance.

He was still in his leathers, the wings at his back limp and heavy, slumped without their usual pride. The glass in his other hand trembled slightly, though his face was carved from stone. In the firelight, the hollows beneath his eyes were deep, and the haunted set of his mouth spoke of sleepless nights and wounds that would not close.

A door creaked softly. A presence, familiar as the darkness itself, slipped into the room—tall, regal, crowned by Night. Rhysand paused in the doorway, his violet eyes taking in the scene with a quiet, aching understanding.

Rhys did not announce himself. Instead, he crossed the room with measured steps, the silence between them thick with unspoken sympathy. He poured himself a drink, the liquid glinting gold, and settled into the chair across from Azriel. 

For a long moment, neither spoke. The fire snapped, sending sparks spiralling up the chimney, and somewhere in the distance, the wind sighed against the eaves.

“You’ll burn a hole through my floorboards if you keep staring like that.” At last, Rhysand broke the silence, his voice low and gentle. 

Azriel’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that never reached his eyes. He took a slow sip, the liquor burning a path down his throat, and set the glass down with a soft clink.

Rhys watched him, his gaze steady. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he murmurs, tone full of an understanding Azriel was not able to accept. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched. He looked away, the firelight gilding the tears he would not let fall. “She’s slipping through my fingers, Rhys. No matter what I do. No matter how hard I try.” Azriel swallows thick. “I don’t have High Lords imparting their gifts or a Cauldron to turn to.”

The words were bitter, full of envy. Full of misplaced anger. Rhys knew that feeling all too well, enough to withhold a cold retort. 

Instead, Rhysand’s expression softened, grief flickering in his eyes. “I know,” he says, the bond shared with Feyre was enough to keep him awake. 

Azriel’s voice was raw, scraped bare. “It feels like punishment. Like the gods are mocking me. A mate I can never truly love—not as I should. Not with all of me. She’s fading, and I’m helpless.”

Rhysand set his glass aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The Mother can be cruel, brother. She gives us miracles and then takes them away. But this,” he gestured to the bottle, to the shadows clinging to Azriel’s shoulders like a cloak, “this isn’t your fault. Nor hers.”

Azriel’s wings shifted. “I keep thinking—if I’d been better. Deserving. That my existence wasn’t a curse on others—”

Rhysand cut him off, gentle but firm. “You care for her. And that is all any of us can do,” he states, firm, not allowing Azriel to spiral further. 

The firelight flickered, casting their faces in gold and shadow. Azriel’s hand tightened around the glass. “She asked me if her sisters would be happy when she’s gone. She worries about being a burden. Even now, she thinks only of others.”

“She is lucky to have you. And you, her. Even if it is only for a little while.” Rhys’ eyes glistened, the pain of his own losses echoing in the space between them.

Azriel closed his eyes, the weight of grief pressing down like a mountain. “It isn’t enough,” he whispers to the quiet room. 

“I know,” Rhys murmurs, unable to say anything more. Unable to find something to ease the ache deep in his brother’s heart. 

Not even the shadows on the walls could reach Azriel now. 

It was an afternoon, the clouds and rain fogging up the windows into a mellow grey, when you felt your chest collapse into itself. Like the weight of the world had implanted itself upon you in one battering swing. 

Azriel was already with you, like he always was, calling for Madja, Feyre, Rhys, anyone that could hear. Every sound felt like it was made behind a closed stone door, warbled, dreamlike. You were too focused on trying to breathe through the phlegm clogging your throat and lungs, sticking the flesh together until there wasn’t a passageway to be used. 

Cold towels were placed against your forehead and chest, hot skin trembling in protest. For such heat your body seemed to be making, you felt so awfully cold. 

It was darker when you came to, candles now lit, filling your chambers with lavender and thyme. The rain continued to tap against the window, a relentless, mournful rhythm that filled the dimly lit room.

Azriel was still at your side, thumbing hair from your damp cheeks, tucking the strands behind your ear. Despite the soul-sinking realisation that you may not live to see the next sunrise, you’re consumed by the impotent longing for the male who hasn’t left you. Jealous, knowing you’ll never love him in the way other women surely have in the past. 

“I’m sorry,” Azriel whispers, and you can feel the breath of his fist against your cheekbone. “There is nothing else left to do,” he adds, choking, pressing his palm over his mouth as if it would stop the terror and sorrow from pouring out of him. 

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to comfort someone when the cause of their anguish was made by your own hand. 

Azriel sinks into himself, grabbing one of your clammy hands, squeezing harder than he intends. Your fingers were too numb for you to notice. 

“You don’t like the quiet,” Azriel murmurs, a frantic sound. “I’ll talk to you, even when you can’t hear me. I won’t allow you to grow lonely.”

You try to smile, the corners of your lips perking up just a fraction. Azriel notices—he always does, nothing ever slips him—and he returns one in kind. Softer, something to hide the tears clumping his lashes together. 

“One day, I’ll be wrapped in the same soil that’ll hold you, and we’ll never be alone,” Azriel promises like a confessional, a blood oath. 

For a fleeting moment, the fear dissipates like mist in the wind. You’re imagining the warm earth taking you in, cradling your body in wait for the male that held your heart in a gold string to follow. 

You felt yourself slipping, the room growing dimmer, the world softer. The rain grew louder, a crescendo that matched the pounding of your heart. Then, as if the world itself held its breath, everything stilled. The pain eased, replaced by a gentle weightlessness. You exhaled, a final, shuddering sigh, and the storm outside seemed to pause in reverence.

In that quiet, you drifted—beyond the rain, beyond the sorrow—toward a place where the sickness could not follow.

The earth shuddered at your departure.

[judesmoonbeauty]

Ikémen Villain's 2025 Vil Fest - 400 Hearts Story: Jude Jazza

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

(Jude’s still not finished….)

As I was anxiously waiting for him to come back, the door opened.

Jude: ….Oh, yer here?

Kate: Jude, welcome back!

Kate: Are you hurt anywhere? You must be tired, please sit down and rest!

Jude: Quit yellin’. It’s annoyin’.

Kate: Sorry, I just got a bit worried while I was waiting, or rather...

One of Jude’s arms was hanging limp, while his other hand was holding his shoulder.

Kate: What’s wrong with your shoulder? Are you hurt?!

Jude: Somethin’ like this ain’t gonna hurt me.

Kate: Then…?

Jude: ……..This is.

Here Jude uses "korehanaa," which can be translated to several things, but primarily "this/this is." I am assuming Jude's meaning popping his shoulder back in place is what will actually hurt. However, take this line with a grain of salt.

Jude tautly bends his elbow —

Jude: Mm……

The moment his supporting hand pushed into his shoulder….I heard bones crack.

Kate: That sounded terrible, are you okay?

Jude: Just popped my shoulder back in place.

Kate: Your shoulder was dislocated?!

Jude: Yer always fussin’. It’s fixed so it’s fine now.

Kate: But what if you force it back and it gets stuck in a weird position?

Kate: We need to be bandage it up immediately…!

Jude: Huh, y’know quite a bit. Where’d ya learn that. That quack doc maybe?

Kate: Nope. While I was waiting for you, I read a book about how to treat injuries.

Kate: I thought it might be of some help.

As I was explaining, I brought over a first-aide kit I’d prepared.

Jude: Ain’t had nothin’ like this in my room?

Kate: I prepped it in case of an emergency.

Kate: I was worried that you might get hurt, but I couldn't just stand by and do nothing.

Kate: Anyway, you’re always getting hurt Jude, so this this will be a good opportunity to always have a first-aide kit handy!

(Is there any kind of cloth to suspend an arm with….)

I open the lid of the medical box...but I couldn’t find a sling inside.

(I didn’t anticipate a shoulder dislocation at the time…..Oh!)

Suddenly, I had an idea and pulled out the large ribbon from the chest of my blouse…..

Kate: Raise your arm, please.

Jude: Ah?

I forcefully threaded the ribbon under the complaining Jude’s armpit, tied it behind his neck and wrapped his arm in it.

Jude: Haaa….yer overreactin’. ‘N it’s cack-handed.

Kate: I-It’s just a temporary measure.

Kate: I think Roger likely has the supplies to treat it.

Kate: I’ll go them now, so just wait here a bit.

Jude: …..It’s fine like this.

Kate: Huh? Why…

Jude: …..Can’t understand ‘less I spell it out fer ya?

The eyes staring at me seem to have a feverish look in them, and it startles me.

Kate: Uh…..Well, I don’t understand.

Jude: Figure it out yerself.

Kate: So, you don’t have the slightest intention to tell me…..

Jude: If I tell ya, you’ll get carried away.

Tilting my head at his words, heat rises in my face as I realize the possibility.

Jude: Whatcha turnin’ red fer.

Kate: It’s like you’re saying….You don’t want to take it off even if it’s “cack-handed,” because I’m the one who treated it….

Jude: Just how self-conscious are ya, that ain’t it.

Kate: Huh, which part was wrong?

Jude: All o’ it. Start to finish.

Kate: ………….

Jude: Why’re ya poutin’?

Kate: I’m not pouting.

Jude: Yer poutin’. Yer right easy to read.

Jude bursts out laughing.

Jude: …..Lookin’ at yer cute face's made me wanna violate ya.

Kate: Hey, what are you sayi-Nnha….

I was pinned from behind, and my lips were wedged open with his fingers…

Kate: Don’t use your injured arm….

Jude: Don’t move ‘n it’ll be fine.

Jude: I can make ya feel good with just one hand.

Kate: Mmm, ahh!

His other hand pinches my nipple, and the crawling pleasure down my spine makes my back arch.

I want to touch you because of I love you, I want to tell you how I feel - such ordinary logic doesn’t work with my lover.

The sweet pain he gives me, always reminds me of that love.

[Event Master List]

Kate: You don't want to take it off because I wrapped it. Jude: That ain't it. The fandom: /eyerolls at the TSUNDERE.

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

Tag List:@sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @nawlink @justgiulia @vickietickie @greedyqueensfavourite @sharigax @belphiesleftpinkytoe @reimy1164 @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway

[nxttheendxfthestxry]

"Look, if you don't like me because of what someone else told you, you're stupider than you look."

[fans4wga]

'Why creatives are seeking residuals' - thread by Stefanie Williams

[Tweet thread by Stefanie Williams @/StefWilliams25

TRANSCRIPT:

Why creatives are seeking residuals vs. "do you pay the mattress maker every time you sleep on a mattress?" A thread. I keep hearing over and over again that writers/actors/creatives don't deserve residuals for the work they create. "If I build a bathroom in a house, I don't get paid every time someone uses the toilet."

TRUE! However, your bathroom build has a set market value. Art does not. No one knows what makes one TV show an overnight success, and another a flop. No one knows what makes one song a hit, and the other a dud. If they did, trust me when I say record companies would be churning out Taylor Swifts over and over again. Studios would be making nothing but Stranger Things.

But that isn't the case. No one could predict Stranger Things would be a massive, billion dollar hit. No one could predict Taylor Swift was going to be a world wide phenomenon who literally could record herself reading Aesop's Fables and make millions of dollars. Which is why residuals are important. The pay structure protects both the creators and the publishers/distributors.

The easiest way to explain it is by referencing an author writing a book. Sure, an author might get a very modest up front fee, but the author is banking on royalties to really make money on the book — for every book sold, the author gets a piece of the pie. This protects both the author and the publisher—because if the book is a flop, the publisher doesn't go broke on a financial promise they made to the author that didn't pan out, and if the book is a mega-hit, the author didn't give away a massive, million-dollar book for 20k.

It's a sliding scale that is required for a product that has no set market value. What makes an actor's work on a hit show more valuable than an actor's work on a show that gets canned after five episodes? The market value for art almost always comes after the fact, so residuals account for that reality. They make sure the creator get compensated at a fair market rate. A person who builds a bathroom knows, upfront, what the market rate for a bathroom is. That bathroom won't suddenly be worth 1000 times more than you built it for in six months. It doesn't have the potential to be built for 20k and generate 20 million.

Residuals are a pay structure that simply account for an unsure market value. Trust me, we all wish we could quantify art in terms of dollars. But art is unpredictable. So studios and streamers -- which literally REQUIRE content to stay viable -- have to account for that unpredictability. And for studios (or record labels, or book publishers) it's always trial and error. The only way to get a hit, is to go through a few flops.

For every Whitney Houston, there was a singer you never heard of. For every Sopranos, there was a show that got scrapped mid season. For every Titanic, there was a movie that bombed. For every Twilight, there was a book about vampires that went nowhere. Residuals are kind of a reverse market valuation. They pay a fair wage for a product than can only have a set value once it's been created and effectively consumed.

And even then, shit changes. Anyone think Kate Bush would spend weeks on the top of the charts in 2022? Residuals account for unpredictable markets. And in order to have accurate residuals, streamers and studios need to be transparent and open about their data, which is one of the MANY things the WGA and SAG are both fighting for.

[butterflywingswrites]

can you do another love triangle one with caitlin and kate n like them jealous

love triangle part 2

“i dare you to kiss kate” gabbie laughed and took a drink. you looked around at the crowded bar. you had no problem being openly sapphic but you did have a problem with pda and not wanting to complicate your relationship with kate after having sex a few days ago

“there are people here” you tried to get out of it

“so you don’t want to kiss me?” kate pouted, fake offended. the rest of the team started egging you on. except caitlin. caitlin was looking all around, avoiding looking at you. you didn’t notice because you were too busy looking at kate. you gave in to the pressure and placed a light peck on kate’s lips

“a real kiss!” gabbie insisted. you were concerned about making things weird until kate grabbed you by the neck and pulled you into a deep make out. luckily it was loud in the bar and nobody heard the moan that escaped your lips when kate’s tongue entered your mouth. you heard the team cheering until a loud voice interrupted the cheers

“alright, alright. get a room” caitlin’s words broke up your kiss. kate winked at you when you pulled back and you giggled. kate brought her mouth to your ear

“i heard that moan, pretty girl” your body was getting hot and not just from the alcohol

the whole night kate and caitlin were smiling and winking at you. you didn’t want to pick between them. they were both great kissers and the sex with them was amazing. how could you choose? surely that would ruin your relationship with the one you didn’t choose. you couldn’t lose either of them, so you chose neither and interacted with both of them. eventually, caitlin grabbed your hand and pulled you to the open area where people were dancing

“dance with me” before you could respond, she turned you around and grabbed your hips. she brought you close to her and you could feel her tits on your back like when she was helping you with your shots. one of her hands trailed up to your stomach

“mmm caitlin” you moaned. she brought her head down to your ear

“you like how i touch you?” caitlin’s voice in your ear gave you chills

“mmm yes. so good” you were short circuiting

“i’m disappointed i didn’t get to taste you the other day” caitlin admitted before placing hot open mouth kisses on your neck. suddenly your distaste for pda disappeared

“do you still want to?” you asked boldly

“yes” caitlin giggled in your ear “i just know you taste so good” she lifted your chin and moved your face so she could kiss you. you turned around so you could kiss her facing forward. caitlin kept one hand on your hip and one hand on your face. you wrapped your arms around her neck and threaded your hands in her hair as you deepened the kiss. suddenly, you felt a smack on your ass, disrupting your kiss

“we’re going home” kate explained, gesturing to the team walking out the door. still dazed from the kiss, you let kate guide you out the door with her hand. caitlin followed you out, holding your other hand

***

“i really liked kissing you the other day” caitlin said casually as you watched tv together on your bed

“huh?” you were short circuiting again

“and i meant what i said about tasting you”

“oh?” you were completely shocked. caitlin laughed

“relax. it’s just an offer. no pressure if you’re not interested”

“no! no! i’m very interested” you rushed to correct her. she laughed again

“are you nervous?” you nodded “you’re so cute. don’t be nervous. i just want to make you feel good” caitlin leaned in to kiss you. she was slow, giving you time to pull back

“caitlin” you mumbled against her lips

“if you don’t want me, back away now. because once i start kissing you, i don’t think i’ll be able to stop” instead of backing away, you closed the gap between you. you melted into caitlin’s kiss and let her take over completely

caitlin gently lowered you onto the bed so she was on top of you. you wrapped your legs around her waist and moaned when her hand went straight to your ass and squeezed it. as you continued to make out, you wrapped your legs tighter around her waist. caitlin giggled

“don’t worry baby. i’ll take good care of you” she gently tugged your shirt over your head and unhooked your bra “you’re so beautiful”

your face got hot as caitlin kissed down your neck, chest, and stomach. she placed a sweet kiss above your waistband and pulled your pants and underwear down. wasting no time, caitlin quickly started eating you out. you groaned and grabbed her hair as she licked your pussy. your eyes closed and head tilted back as caitlin worked you on her tongue. she used her thumb to lightly play with your clit as she ate you out and the pleasure quickly became too much for you. you came with a scream of her name and a tug of her hair

***

you couldn’t stop staring at caitlin during practice the next day. you giggled when you made eye contact. caitlin responded with either a smirk or a wink and it made your face heat up every time. you were too busy looking at caitlin to notice kate observing your interactions. after practice, kate pulled you to talk after the rest of the team left the locker room

“are you and caitlin together?” kate asked bluntly

“no. why? did she say something to you?” you were under the impression the two of you were just having fun

“no. i just noticed you were blushing and giggling when you were looking at her” kate paused for a second “did you guys fuck again?”

“yeah but it was casual… i think” kate moved closer to you

“did either of you say you were exclusive?” even closer

“no” your noses were touching

“good” kate kissed you. you grabbed the back of her head, her hair still wet from her post practice shower. kate walked you back into the side of the lockers. you pulled back to speak

“there’s something i’ve been thinking about doing” you flipped her around so she was the one with her back on the lockers. you grabbed her towel from the bench and placed it on the floor under kate. you grabbed her waistband and raised your eyebrows, silently asking for permission. she nodded and you sunk to your knees while pulling her shorts and underwear down. kate lifted her foot up and shook her shorts and underwear off her leg

you put kate’s leg over your shoulder and started kissing above her knee. you started kissing up her thigh, savoring the pretty moans that came out of her mouth. you took your time when you got to her pussy, lapping at her gently. you tasted her until you got impatient. you needed your tongue on her clit. now. you licked and sucked at her clit until she came

“damn you’re good at that” kate admitted as you got off your knees. you giggled at kate’s fucked out face. you looked at her and thought about being with caitlin earlier. you decided the same thing you did at the bar: you couldn’t lose either of them, so you chose neither and fucked them both