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beyondthesefourwalls · 6 months

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Twin Fire Signs

Summary: When the majority of your squad intentionally leaves you drunk and alone at a bar, you resign yourself to finding your own way home and dealing with your wounded pride in peace. But then your phone rings, the name of the last person you expected to be calling you on a Friday night flashing on your screen. You know you shouldn’t answer, but too much tequila has never led to great decisions.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: language, drinking

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You were drunk.

There wasn’t really any denying it now, just like there was no denying that you were alone without any of the people you came here with. It took a complete lap of the bar and waiting outside of the bathrooms for an eyebrow raising amount of time for you to accept it, but it was an inevitable conclusion now: your team, your squad, had ditched you. By the looks they had exchanged in the ready room in the tower, you were sure the invitation had only been extended as a courtesy and that none of them had expected you to actually say yes. Which was fair, because up until this point, you hadn’t. But you decided to accept on a whim, high off the adrenaline from the phenomenal flying you had just done, mixed with a lapse in judgment and a previous night of feeling particularly lonely. You had been off-brand craving social interaction. Now, you were regretting it and remembering why you preferred being alone. They had bought you a few shots, and all it took was a quick trip to the bathroom for you to come back and all of them be just…gone.

You never should have let your guard down.

There was a reason you had declined nearly every invitation from them to go out for drinks, and it wasn’t because of your desperate need to keep work separate from your private life. You knew the people on your squad were assholes, and you knew they didn’t like you all that much. You were the lone Lieutenant Junior Grade amongst a squad of Lieutenants. On top of that, the first woman of said rank to not only make it there, but be handed the trophy at the end of Top Gun.

You were good. Very good. You knew it, and so did the rest of the squad you had been assigned to when, following your win, you were transferred from Corpus Christi and stationed at Top Gun permanently two months ago. You had come in and blown them all out of the water, and none of them particularly liked it.

You should have known that something like this would happen tonight.

You tried not to let it bother you as you plopped down on a barstool. The bartender, an older man tattooed from his bald head to the tips of his fingers, slid a glass of water in front of you with a roll of his eyes. You gave what you hoped was an appreciative thank you and hiccuped as you took your first sip. After downing half the glass and a handful of bar pretzels, you fumbled with your phone, looking through several rideshare apps to see which one would get you the cheapest and quickest ride home so you could sulk in private.

You were debating if the extra ten bucks for a ride that would show up five minutes quicker was worth it when your screen switched over to an incoming call. Your eyes widened in shock at the name staring up at you.

Lieutenant Seresin

Oh no. Oh no.

It was almost 10pm on a Friday night and Hangman was calling you. And you were drunk. He hadn’t come out with you all tonight, but that wasn’t uncommon. If you were an outcast in one regard, he was an outcast in another. Your squad wanted little to do with you, but they worshiped him. But instead of humoring them, he spent the majority of his time with the special squadron he was also assigned to, who were spread out amongst other teams on base.

You didn’t think that he'd said two words to you that weren’t criticism or a challenge since that day. So why the hell was he calling you now?

You considered not answering and letting the call go to voicemail. You stared at the name for so long weighing your options that the screen darkened as the vibrations stopped. You heaved out a sigh of relief, only to squeak in surprise when the phone started vibrating again.

You tried to take a deep breath when you answered, a slightly high pitched “Hello?” being offered. You winced when it was quickly followed by a hiccup, and then another.

“Are you drunk?”

Fuck.

“Um. Yes.”

You winced at your answer. Being blunt was one of your many character flaws, but you probably could have tried to have a little more tact, considering who you were talking to.

“Are you still at Lumpys?”

“Yes,” you answered automatically, but your brows furrowed as your alcohol soaked brain processed his words. “Wait. How did you know that?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, completely ignoring your question. The bar was so loud around you that you had a bit of trouble hearing him, but that last tequila shot must have done you in, because you could hear annoyance, certainly, but you thought maybe you heard concern, too. You took a gulp of your water to try and clear your mind, because there was no way.

You must have taken too long to respond because he snapped out your name, your first name, and you almost gasped at the sound of it. You don’t think he’s ever actually said your name before; the deep timber of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh no.

Now was not the time for your thoughts to run away from you into that territory.

“I’m drunk,” you said dumbly.

You could practically feel the pause on the other end before he let out a sigh of your call sign that sounded almost angry.

“Are you safe?” he asked, since you hadn’t directly answered his question on being okay. You took in your surroundings with a long glance, your normal ability to clock everything delayed.

Lumpys wasn’t the nicest place. You had never even heard of it before tonight. It was dark and loud and smokey despite the laws prohibiting it in California. It definitely wasn’t a military bar, that was for sure. You wondered for the first time why the rest of the squad had chosen this spot when the Hard Deck was so close to base, as well as two or three other bars that were frequented by uniforms not of the biker variety. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat when you realized that maybe they had done that on purpose, because you were coming with them and they knew they wouldn’t stick around. From the end of the bar, the bartender glanced at the water in front of you to see if a refill was needed before rolling his eyes again and looking away as he cleaned glasses.

“Well,” you drew out, pushing down the unwanted emotions suddenly hitting you. “I can’t decide if the bartender is a giant tattooed teddy bear or a gang enforcer. Could go either way, honestly.”

He cursed on the other end and you thought maybe you heard the sound of a vehicle starting. You weren’t really sure, thinking maybe the loudness of the bar was making you hear things, but then his next words affirmed it.

“Don’t move. I’ll come get you.”

Your eyes widened and you sat up straighter in the barstool you had been slumped over in. “Wait, what?”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that. I was about to get an Uber or something-”

He said your first name again, and it set butterflies loose in your stomach that you tried desperately to catch and put back in the box they came from. His voice lowered into something gentle, a tone you hadn’t heard in weeks from the fellow aviator. “Just hang tight. I’ll be there in 20, maybe less.”

You thought about arguing with him and insisting that that wasn’t necessary and you could make your way home just fine by yourself. Even if you were sober, you’d have been in charge of finding your own way home tonight. Quarterback had given you a ride from base after work, and you had assumed you’d be able to catch a ride back, too. But he was long gone with the rest of your squad.

“I…okay,” you finally said, accepting your fate.

He hung up without a goodbye, and you were sure if this was a regular phone call, you’d roll your eyes at how rude the gesture was. But all you could focus on at this point was the sound of your name in his voice and the fact that he was apparently coming to get you.

You were fucked.

You chugged your water, some of it spilling down your chin in the process. When you set the glass down it was with a little too much force right as the bartender walked by. You winced at the annoyed look he shot you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. He refilled your water with a glare and without a word, moving onto other customers before you could say anything else. You took another gulp of it with a grimace and then set your head in your hand, taking in a deep breath.

Your team leader, Hangman, Jake, would be picking you up from the bar, because the rest of your squad had abandoned you after you had taken a few too many shots.

The same one who you had more respect for than anyone else, who you’ve also maybe harbored a crush on since you came to Top Gun, and who had barely looked at you since you almost kissed four weeks ago.

Great.

Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin was a legend in the small population of aviators in the US Navy. He was truly the 1% of the 1%. You tried to model a lot of your own career and techniques after him. It helped that you seemed to be similar on an instinctual level, and you had the same indifferent attitudes. Standoffish, as some would say. You both knew you were good, too good to be true in a lot of ways. You had earned the right to have the attitude.

You had been thrilled to be assigned to the same squad as him. You were excited to learn as much as you could from him, to befriend him. And that’s what it had been, at first. The two of you flew together well, and it translated on the ground. He noticed the similarities too, and didn’t hesitate with sharing notes and advice with you. He was so passionate and intelligent about what he did, and that’s what drew you to him first. He knew what he was doing and wasn’t ashamed of it, and that had attracted you more than anything. His good looks certainly didn’t hurt, though.

You had taken to spending time together between hops, and eventually, started talking about more than just flying. It turned out you had a lot in common outside of the Navy, too. He was so easy to talk to. But then almost a month ago, you had been alone in the rec room, talking about the previous night's Cowboys game, of all things, when he had suddenly stepped into your personal space.

His eyes had been dark and intense, and you could feel the heat emanating from his body. The intoxicating combination of his cologne and the smell of jet fuel that you had started associating with him had been even more palpable that close together. You thought he was going to kiss you, to finally give into the tension you thought had been building, and you wanted him to. But then just as quickly as he stepped forward, he had pulled away, leaving you hanging and confused.

And you’ve been that way ever since.

After that moment, things had been different between you. He barely spared you a second glance when you were on the ground and criticized everything you did when you were in the cockpit. You had tried to speak with him, to understand what the fuck had happened, but Jake Seresin was just as good at evading on the ground as he was in the air. So you buried your feelings as deep as you could inside of yourself and tried to mark him off as just another asshole who wasn’t worth your time.

But damn if the alcohol and the way he said your name and sounded something like concerned didn’t have your heart racing and you questioning everything.

A little over fifteen minutes and another glass of water later, a shiver ran through your body. You turned your head right as the door to the bar swung open, eyes meeting the unmistakable figure of the aviator occupying your mind. He wasn’t donning his usual khaki uniform or flight suit that you were used to seeing him in — snug jeans hugged his legs and a white shirt clung to his chest, and you realized it was the first time you’d seen him so casual. Your lips parted slightly as you watched him look around. He stood in the entrance, scanning the room with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes finally locked onto you.

You raised your hand in a pitiful, unneeded wave, and in the dimly lit bar, you swore you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. He started making his way through the crowd to you immediately. You watched him with wary, cautious eyes.

“You alright?” he asked. His demeanor remained stoic, but those intense green eyes that you had admired for so long seemed to hold a blend of concern and something else you couldn't quite decipher. From this close up, you could see the way they flicked up and down your body as if assessing for himself your current state.

“Yeah,” you said softly, feeling flushed under his scrutiny. “I’m fine.”

He gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to the bar. Without a word, he pulled out his wallet and slipped his credit card from the leather. Your eyes widened.

“Wait, Hangman, no.”

You scrambled for your wallet in your tiny small crossbody bag, but before you could get the zipper opened, your self-appointed savior waved you off and handed his card to the approaching bartender. You watched in defeat as the card was swiped and handed back and his signature scrawled on the receipt all in what looked like one smooth motion. Why had you not thought to pay your tab before he had shown up? You were never going to live this down.

“Finish your water and we’ll go,” he told you as he slipped his wallet back into his back pocket.

“It’s my third glass since you called me. If I finish it I can’t be held responsible for your upholstery.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as the words left your mouth. You rubbed at your temples with a groan, your face twisted into a disbelieving grimace. “Please tell me I didn’t just say that.”

To your surprise, Hangman let out a chuckle. Your eyes popped open in shock. His laughter was a rare occurrence in your presence these days, and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly at the sound. Damnit.

"You did," he replied with a faint smirk, his stoic demeanor cracking just a bit. You groaned, and the blonde laughed again before he glanced around the bar, his expression settling back into something more serious. “Are you ready?”

You slid off the barstool, feeling slightly unbalanced on your feet. When you stumbled, he reached out to steady you. You sucked in a breath. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, the two of you just…stared. It was almost reminiscent of that day. But then a bottle broke from a few feet away, shattering the moment — whatever it was — right along with it. Hangman cleared his throat and dropped his hand back to his side.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.” You thought maybe you saw the faintest hint of red creeping up on his neck before he turned away, and your mind struggled to rationalize it.

Once you were outside, the cool night air hit you, and it was a welcome relief. You breathed in deeply as you followed behind him to where his large black truck was parked. You knew from one of your conversations before that he had boughten it last year when he was stationed in California after only ever leasing vehicles before. It was a way for him to establish roots now that he was given the opportunity to settle in one place.

The lights flashed as he unlocked it, opening the passenger door and motioning for you to get in. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was really how your night was going. You chanced a glance at the man holding the door open and he raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering what the hold up was. You could have laughed at the irony. It took you a second to realize that you had.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, and you felt the heat of embarrassment in your face.

“Nothing,” you muttered, and you turned away before you could say or do anything else to make a fool out of yourself.

The leather seats were comfortable when you clumsily climbed in, and the interior of the car was immaculate, crisp and clean just like you often thought he was. It didn’t surprise you a bit. Hangman settled into the driver's seat, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him as he started the engine. He handed you his phone to put your address in and as country music played quietly over the speakers, he put the truck in drive.

You didn’t know what to say, and Hangman seemed content with the quiet. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he drove, the muscles in his arms flexing with every turn of the wheel. You couldn’t help but wonder what those arms would feel like around you, holding you against him. It was a dangerous thought, and you shook it off before it could take root.

You closed your eyes and leant your head back against the seat as you let the wind from the open windows cool your skin. The effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing off, leaving your mind clearer, but no less confused. Being in his presence like this was still throwing you for a loop.

Why had he dropped everything and shown up for you tonight, after doing everything professionally possible to avoid you for the last month? Why had he ignored you to begin with?

Why did you even care?

Neither of you spoke the entire way, and all the questions in your head were like a stoking fire that was rapidly sparking by the time he turned into your apartment complex. Instead of dropping you off in front of your building, he pulled into one of the visitors spots and put the truck in park. He didn’t kill the engine, though, and you wondered if that meant something.

For a moment, you both just sat there, staring straight ahead. You could feel the tension between you, slowly but surely simmering. You knew the smart thing to do would be to get out of the truck. Thank him for coming to get you and go inside, and then come Monday morning, go back to the same routine. You knew you were capable of it — you had mastered the art of indifference years ago.

“Think you’ll make it upstairs?” he asked, disrupting the silence. You frowned at his choice of words, feeling just the tiniest bit offended. You knew how it looked, being drunk and alone. But he was the one who took it upon himself to show up. He had no right to judge you. You couldn’t help the scoff you let out.

“You didn’t have to come get me, you know. You didn’t have to call at all.”

His eyes widened before they squeezed shut, and it was almost like he realized the tone of what he said. You shook your head with a sigh, suddenly so unbelievably tired.

“Thanks for the ride,” you mumbled. You unbuckled your seatbelt and leant down to grab your purse from the floor. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Hangman’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could open the door. You turned to look at him and found him staring at you intently, his green eyes dark and brooding.

“Wait,” he said, his voice urgent and rough. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

He said your name in such a way that you knew nothing would follow it, the blonde at a loss for words for once in his life.

"How did you know where I was?" you blurted out, the words escaping before you could censor them. But the question had been plaguing you since he called, so you didn’t backtrack. You felt like you had a right to know.

You could see the tension in his jaw before he spoke. “Quarterback.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Quarterback told you where I was?”

“Yes.”

“Did he call you, or….?”

Hangman let out a long sigh, tilting his head back to rest against the seat. “The squad was at the Hard Deck like they normally are, being obnoxious —”

“Like they normally are?” you couldn’t help but interrupt. He cracked a half smile, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes as he dipped his chin in agreement. Your shared tolerance level for the other members of your squad was something you had discussed at length before.

“Like they usually are. I asked them where you were, since you were the only one not there and I had heard you tell them yes earlier. He told me they left you at Lumpy’s. They thought it was funny.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting, just a little bit, that they went as far as going somewhere out of the ordinary just so they could leave you there and make you the punchline of a joke. You let your eyes close and sulked in the feeling for a brief moment. You didn’t need these people. You didn’t even particularly like them, outside of being in the air. But damn. You swallowed thickly and shook your head, as if to completely dislodge the feeling. You supposed them ditching you wasn’t necessarily surprising. You knew how they felt about you, just as they knew your opinions, too. What you were surprised about was that Hangman had bothered to ask about your whereabouts in the first place. It was almost like he cared. Almost.

“So why’d you come?” you asked, still trying to understand. “I could have gotten an Uber.”

For a long moment, he just stared, and you looked right back. His expression was hard to decipher. The streetlights outside cast shifting patterns of light and shadow across his face, and you felt like he was seeing right through you. Still, he said nothing. The silence stretched on, tension growing thick in the air. You couldn’t stand it.

You were about to ask him again, to demand an answer, when he finally spoke. His voice was low and measured, a hint of anger looping through the words, and you shivered at the tone of it.

“They had no right to leave you there like that. I couldn’t — I had to know you were okay.”

You stared at him, feeling something deep and aching stir inside you. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react. Everything was suddenly so much more complicated than it had been before.

“Jake…” you whispered, and you don’t know if it was the way you used his first name over his callsign or if he was just finally ready to get it off of his chest, but it was like the single syllable finally cracked the floodgates open.

“I was seeing somebody,” he said. You sucked in a deep breath at the words, a soft “oh” falling from your lips. He continued on before you could think to say anything else. “For a while. Almost a year. She’s exactly what I always pictured I wanted, you know? She travels a lot, but we were figuring it out. But we were serious.”

A beat passed, and you cleared your throat in the silence of the truck. You almost felt awkward when you asked, “Were?”

He nodded, clenching his jaw, before laughing in a way that sounded more self-deprecating than you had ever heard from him. “I’m a lot of things, darlin. But I’m not a cheater, physical or otherwise. It wouldn’t have been so easy for me to catch feelings for someone else if she and I were meant to be together. And the way I had started to feel…”

He cut himself off with a shake of his head, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned ghostly white. You processed the words slowly, mulling over them over and over again as you tried to figure out the implications behind them.

“About me?” you dared yourself to ask, your heart beating hard in your chest and damn near holding your breath after you did.

He met your gaze head on, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “About you. I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while now, but it wasn’t until that day in the ready room that I realized I couldn’t keep denying it anymore. I care about you more than I should.”

The weight of his words was heavy, and you felt a flush start to creep up your neck. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the truck, leaving the two of you suspended in a moment that felt both infinite and fleeting. You didn't know what to say, didn't even know exactly what you were feeling right now. You never thought he would feel the same way that you did, to the point where he had apparently broken up with a girlfriend you had no idea about. But then he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t acted.

You had no idea what any of this meant.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him, but before you could get a word out, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You gasped against his mouth, but his lips were warm and firm and you couldn’t help the way you relaxed into it. It wasn’t more than a press of your lips together, neither of you moving to deepen it, but it left you dizzy like it was the most intense kiss of your life.

When you pulled back, you were both breathing heavier, your foreheads pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with something that felt emotional. “I shouldn't have...not yet. But I had to know what it felt like.”

You swallowed, focusing on one word.“Yet?”

Hangman, Jake, nodded, and the silence stretched on for a long moment. You were still reeling from his kiss, the emotion, your own confusion over your feelings and what it all might mean. Then he sighed, loud and deep. From this close, you could smell the peppermint from the gum he always chewed on his breath. He pulled away so he could look into your eyes and cupped your cheek. The smile he gave you was tinged with sadness and longing, and the strangest mix of hope. You knew before he said anything that nothing would be happening tonight.

“I’m not…I’m not ready yet,” he said softly. Even though you knew something of the sort was coming, there was a flash of disappointment. He must have read it on your face, because he was quick to try and reassure you. “It’s not you. It’s just…I just ended it with her. And I’m still confused as hell over what I feel for you. I think you both deserve more than me rushing into something without figuring that out. Please understand.”

You nodded, even though you weren't entirely sure if you did. You wanted him, that much was clear. But you also didn't want to be someone's rebound. You wanted something real, something meaningful. And you were willing to wait for that. You just hoped he was too.

“Okay," you whispered, taking a deep breath. "I understand.”

He smiled at you again, a small, sad curve of his lips, before leaning in to press his forehead against yours. "Thank you," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You wanted him to kiss you again. You ached for it, almost. But you knew if you closed the distance that you’d be going back on everything he had just asked for and the understanding you had promised him you had. So instead, you swallowed thickly and pulled away from him all together. He seemed to understand the distance you were creating and released another deep breath, clearing his throat.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "For coming to get me."

He nodded, and the two of you fell into silence again. There was something in his eyes that made you think he wasn't done yet. "Can I walk you up to your door?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea. But at the same time, you didn't want this moment to end, either, even if it was just a few more minutes. "Sure," you finally said.

The two of you got out of the truck and made your way up to your apartment, the silence between you heavy. He was walking so close that you could feel the body heat radiating from him, and you were starting to feel hot all over. When you reached your door, you turned to face him, unsure of what to say. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared.

"Thank you again," you said softly.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he let out a deep breath. "Of course,” he said, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Your skin tingled when he pulled away. “I'll see you Monday?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'll see you then."

He stepped away, staring for just a moment longer before he whispered out a goodnight and turned and walked back down the hallway. You watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside of you. You didn't know what was going to happen between the two of you, but you thought maybe you were ready to find out. You turned to your door and pulled out your keys, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and stepping inside.

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Main Masterlist

Notes: More of The Blonde One™️needed to be added to my masterlist. I hope you enjoyed whatever this was lol. Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement!

Thanks to @roosterforme @mak-32 @thedroneranger for the help! And to Mak for the prettiest banner that finally gets to see the light of day😍

#alli writes #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman x you #jake seresin imagine #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #jake hangman x reader #hangman x oc #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x female reader

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thepathwechooseif · 4 months

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DEMO TBA

In the English countryside in 1914, you live with your two children on your late husband’s grand estate. Two years have passed since the tragic sinking of the Titanic, from which you became a single parent.

Though surrounded by wealth and community, you remain lost in a fog of grief. But with the arrival of summer, the neighbouring family prepares to host their annual month-long house party. Your curious children persuade you to attend, hoping the festivities will lift your sorrow.

Lucas/Lucia Bertham, the family's charming heir, bonds with your children and seems to understand you in a way others cannot. But will secrets regarding their family's future prevent love?

Azra Hays arrives, a traveling storyteller with a gift for magic in their words that soothes your soul. Gardner Isaac Hill has loved you in silence, finding joy through your children's smiles.

More suitors await too - brilliant sculptor Zephyr Langston, whose art mirrors your heart, and Doctor Henry Bellman, who ministers to the people with patience and good humor.

As festivities crescendo with masques, fireworks and more, you start to believe in love and laughter again. But which person holds your whole heart? And will dark forces from the past destroy this new paradise you’ve begun to build?

The summer promises intrigue, blessings, and maybe a sweet romance if you can let go of history and embrace the gifts of tomorrow.

Customise your character as well as your children’s

Choose where you live and how you dress

Your choices have an impact on how society reacts to you!

Uncover secrets from your past!

Pursuing different ROs with varying levels of affection leads to unique story endings that resolve the mystery

Lucas/Lucia Bertham (m/f/nb)

The Heir, 26, Lucas/Lucia Bertham is the only child and heir to the prestigious title and lands of Bertham. They are a successful businessperson, but relish returning to their ancestral home each summer. While other young people prefer to travel abroad, they prefer the simple pleasures of country life. They take their duty as head of the manor seriously, helping tenants with an approachable demeanor. Though destined to marry well for station one day, they remain single and enjoy lively flirtations. While others dance at balls, they are the happiest hosting gatherings under the stars or riding alongside farm laborers by day. Lucas/Lucia lights up any room with their charm, wit and easy smiles. But is there a lonely heart searching for more beneath this carefree facade? As always, only time will tell what develops between Lucas/Lucia and you over the magical summer months at Bertham.

Isaac Hill(m)

The Gardner, 35, Isaac Hill has lived and worked on your estate for years. His strong, weather-worn hands coax beauty from the soil. Gardenings comes naturally to gentle-souled Isaac, as does his way with any creature in need of care. The expansive gardens are his pride and joy, a wonderland open for all to enjoy. Despite his huge build, muscular arms and calloused palms, his demeanor remains soft-spoken yet self-assured. While most village maidens sigh for officers or heirs, Isaac's gentle soul and way with children has turned many a head. But he remains devoted to coaxing new life from the earth, finding solace in small things. Perhaps amid the Bertham's blossoms, Isaac's own heart may bud anew this summer as well.

Zephyr Langston(m/f/nb)

The Sculptor, 27, Zephyr Langston hails from one of London's most prestigious arts families. Though young, their sculptures have already gained fame across England. While many London soirees vie for their presence, Zephyr relishes escaping to the countryside each summer. Using moody landscapes as inspiration, they work tirelessly to capture fleeting emotions in stone. Some say their sculptures are too sensually lifelike, but the Berthams proudly collect their edgy works. Zephyr charms salon attendees but remains unmarried, focused solely on their "passionate mistress," their art. Though prone to brooding moody spells while working, they come alive at parties with a playful wit. Could this summer be when they find inspiration of the heart as well as hands among the Bertham estate's rolling hills?

Henry Bellman(m)

The Doctor, 29, though young, he runs the village medical practice with a maturity beyond his years. What he lacks in words, Henry more than makes up for with his compassionate bedside manner. He listens with steady brown eyes that seem to see into patients' very souls. While others chat idly, Henry prefers observing life unfold with subtle calm. An avid reader, he's as learned as any university man but without pretense. More than one farmer's daughter has blushed starry-eyed receiving his attentions, yet he remains a bachelor focused solely on his work. The Berthams value Lucas greatly for his discretion and healing touch. But does his solemn façade hide deeper passions waiting to emerge? As always, only time will tell what mysteries lie beneath the calm exterior of Doctor Henry Bellman, and what intrigues he may stir in your heart this season.

Azra Hays(m/f/nb)

The Storyteller, 27, Azra Hays is a free spirit , with mischievous eyes like the summer sky. While others settle, Azra is happiest wandering the countryside in their worn boots, flute in hand.They’re a jack of all trades but lives for their art - spinning spellbinding tales that transport listeners far from their daily toils. With their easy smile and flirty manner, Azra charms all they meet. Yet beneath this bohemian exterior beats a kind and generous heart, always helping travelers in need. An orphan from youth, they never take their freedom or talents for granted. Azra makes their coin sharing folklore, gossip and bawdy jokes in villages along their route. But they save their most magical stories for moonlit campfires, weaving magic that leaves audiences in awe. Some say their nose for intrigue could even rival the Sherlock Holmes tales. Will Azra linger longer this year among Bertham's gardens and party revelries? Is there feeling breeding beyond friendship beneath Azra's roguish charm? As always, only time will tell the true depth of bonds woven beneath the summer stars.

#interactive fiction #no demo #twine game #twine wip #twine interactive fiction #twine story #twine if #wip #status: wip

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pathetichimbos · 7 months

Text

First Meeting - Part Two

((part one here))

((part three here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

taglist: @goodiesinthecloset21

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

You let out a sigh as you exit the store, a bounce to your walk as you head in the opposite direction you came from, moving rather quickly in order to cover as much ground as possible before the dark of the night hits.

It doesn't take long before a large, familiar figure comes into view ahead, his pace much slower than your own.

Realizing your only options are to either ignore him and pass him, or slow down and accidentally look like a creep following him, you sigh and jog ahead, slowing down to match his pace as you catch up.

"Funny seeing you again," You catch him off guard, making him jump a little as he looks at you in surprise, "...Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, I just saw we were headin' the same way and I thought I'd just say hi."

He sighs, seeming to relax a bit after your mini jump scare.

"So..." You start, realizing he wasn't going to reply, "...You live out this way?"

He nods.

"Seems quiet."

Another nod.

"Kind of like you." You give another smile, shrugging, "I was always told I could talk the ear off of a dead man."

He lets out a small, humored chuckle, and you feel yourself relax a little.

Conversation begins to flow easier as the two of you walk along, with you talking about the people you'd met and the places you'd seen in the last month and a half. The more you talk, the easier it becomes to see the good in your adventure, the ache of your empty stomach and sore muscles fading into the background as you retell your stories.

“Can't say I'd be able to find it again, but man, it was a really beautiful place. I'd love to go there again.”

Thomas nods, a genuine smile on his face from hearing the way you described the lake you had found last week.

You can feel the long grass reaching its way under your jeans, scratching at your ankles as the two of you walk side by side down a narrow dirt path you had absent-mindedly followed him down.

“Maybe I will go back...” You hum a little, hands resting in your back pockets, “Can't be that hard to find, right?”

He lets out a low hum of agreement as the two of you break the clearing in the trees and a large white house slowly comes into view.

“Whoa...” You mutter as the two of you reach the porch, “You live here?”

He nods.

“Wow…” You gaze at the house. It was old, sure, the white paint peeling off, the windows dusty and missing a couple of panels, but it was huge, and absolutely gorgeous.

The worn porch swing creaks as a summer breeze slowly pushes it, and you can distinguish the faint sound of animals echoing from the barn that sat a bit further back from the house.

You look at the overgrown property and sigh before smiling at Thomas, almost sadly as you realize it was time to leave.

“Well, I guess I should–” Your words are cut off by a deep, growling sound.

The Texas sun was no match for the heat in your face as you realized the noise was coming from your stomach.

Thomas tilts his head and you quickly look away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I, uh–” Southern pride keeps your mouth shut as you stumble over your words, eyes boring holes in the dirt as you try to think of an excuse.

You're pulled from your own embarrassment as a strong hand grabs your arm, pulling you up the old wooden stairs and into the house.

It was just as big on the inside, greeting you with a large hallway that stretched to the other end of the house. To your immediate right was an opening to the spacious living room, and a little further down was a staircase leading to the second story.

You, however, were directed to the left, to a small table sitting in a rather big kitchen- though it didn't seem quite as big as the living room sitting across the hall.

“N-no, it’s no problem-!” You try to protest, but he doesn't hear a word of it as his firm grip gently nudges you into a chair.

You sit there, now quietly flustered as Thomas looks through the fridge.

“Tommy what the hell are you doing!?” A new voice suddenly came from beyond the kitchen, and the owner followed in.

It was an older man, wheelchair bound and missing the bottom half of his legs. He looks to Thomas, and then to you, a look of confusion and annoyance on his face as he does so.

“Who the hell is this?”

“I, uh, I’m Y/N…” You offer, knowing Thomas doesn't speak, “I met Thomas down at the station and walked with him.”

“Does Hoyt know about this?” The man ignores you as he continues looking at Thomas.

He finally turns around, a plate covered with tin foil in hand as he shakes his head to the other man.

“Ah, shit, Thomas. I ain't dealing with this. Don't try to say I didn't warn you.” He scoffs before turning back and leaving the kitchen.

You stare at the doorway he just left through, realizing that everyone you had seen so far in this town seemed to either know or be related to Thomas in one way or another.

Perched on the old kitchen wall was a picture of the older woman from the station, though she seemed a bit younger and less grumpy. The sheriff- Hoyt, you had remembered her calling his name- had called her Mama, and the man that had just left mentioned him as well.

You wondered if they had any other family filling the rooms of this large home, though right now it seemed quiet, save for the faint echoes of a TV playing from a room you hadn't seen yet.

Thomas pushes a plate in front of you, catching your attention as he grabs a fork and hands it to you as well.

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to–”

He cuts you off by tapping the table beside the plate.

You sigh, the clench of your empty stomach reminding you that you weren't going to gain anything by not eating it.

You pull back the tin foil to reveal a full meal, something you hadn’t seen in days. The food was piled up, and your mouth was practically watering at the sight. You take your first bite, the flavor exploding in your mouth and making your stomach growl again.

It had been so long since you'd had proper food, you didn't even mind that it was cold, simply excited to get something in your system.

You eat as much as you can, having to turn away over half of it after your shrunken stomach protests eating anymore.

Feeling more comfortable, you gave him a smile and thanked him again, “Did you cook that?”

He shook his head and pointed to a picture on the wall, the same picture of the station clerk that you noticed earlier.

“She's your mother?” You question, earning a nod in response.

You open your mouth to continue when a car door slams shut outside and an almost familiar voice calls out.

“Thomas!” The man screams from the front yard.

“Is that… The sheriff?” You ask, looking back to Thomas who was staring at the door, his face now grim and shoulders tense.

“Thomas, get your ass out here!” Hoyt hollers for him again.

Thomas stands from the table, another voice echoing in from the outside.

“No, no, please, let us go!” A woman screams, her voice blood curdling and scared.

You stand up as well, a worry in your voice, “Is that Katie?”

Thomas puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes his head, a warning.

More screaming comes from the front yard, the voices of the sheriff and Katie mixing together as they yell at each other.

Thomas tugs your arm, pulling you to the kitchen pantry. He motions for you to stay quiet before shutting the door, his fading footsteps leaving the kitchen.

You sit in the dark, heart racing as your mind tries to piece together what was happening.

The slam of the front door makes you jump as the sheriff yells again, his voice much louder and clearer as he had apparently come inside, “Goddamnit, boy, when I holler for you, that means you come!”

“Please, please, let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I swear to God…” Katie was sobbing, you could hear it in her voice and the way she hiccupped between her words.

“Here, Tommy, put her in the kitchen. We’ll let Momma deal with her when she gets home.”

Your body seems to move on its own as you crack the pantry door open, watching Thomas drag Katie across the kitchen floor.

Blood is soaking her clothes, leaving a mess trailing behind as Thomas ties her hands to the kitchen table.

He glances up, intense eyes staring you down as he shakes his head, a silent command to shut the door.

You do as you're told, hands covering your mouth as you start to hyperventilate, adrenaline rushing your system as you start to shake.

You can hear Thomas' heavy footsteps leave the room again over Katie's crying, the table scraping the floor as she futilely pulls against her restraints.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

Your mind starts racing as you try to contemplate your options.

You could stay hidden here, sure, but for how long? What if Thomas wasn't the next person to open the door, and what would you even do if it was?

Would you take the risk and bolt? Would he even let you?

Your breathing starts to become shaky and uneven as the fear takes over your mind. You shut your eyes and lean against the door, trying to ignore the sounds of the girl on the other side.

She was crying, still, asking no one in particular, “God, why me? Why us, God, why–” She cries out, sobbing violently as her sentence is cut off with a broken sob.

After a few minutes of this, the front door opens once again, and footsteps, too soft to be Thomas' or Hoyt’s, come in.

You peer out of the door again, watching as the older woman from the gas station steps into the kitchen.

Katie notices her as well, immediately crying out, begging for help.

You watch as she stops in front of her with a sigh, “Oh, dear. What has that Hoyt done now…?” She mutters before walking past her.

She doesn't notice you as she walks out of view and comes back with a bowl of water and a rag.

“I don’t know why he always has to be so messy.” She shakes her head, gently running the rag across Katie's face.

“Please, please, let me go, please…” Katie pleads with her, only for the woman to hush her, “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, we’ve got company coming over, and you don’t want to be all dirty, do you?” She coos slightly as she finishes washing her face, “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Katie sobs again, yanking at the ropes once more.

The woman ignores her, walking out of view once again, you assume to get rid of the bowl of water and now bloody rag.

You close the door again and sigh, pressing your forehead against the door as tears begin to slip down your cheeks.

What was going to happen to you?

You sit there in that pantry, silent and listening to Katie’s tears as you wait to find out.

You can hear the woman come back into the kitchen and begin making something, and eventually the whistling kettle hints at tea, or maybe even coffee. At some point another woman joined her and they both took a seat and began chit chatting.

You barely listen to their conversation, only picking up on the first woman’s name, Luda Mae. You didn’t catch the second woman’s name as they chatted casually, exchanging small talk about the weather and the tea. If it wasn’t for Katie’s crying, you’d assume nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

“Oh, here, let me go get you some from the pantry.” Luda Mae's voice pulls you from your thoughts as you listen to her shuffling footsteps come closer and closer.

Your heart stops and sinks all at once and you feel sick realizing what was about to happen.

You push yourself away from the door, holding your bag in front of you as if it could somehow keep you hidden, silently pressing yourself against the back shelves as you brace yourself.

The door handle starts to turn.

A feeling of complete helplessness settles in as the door swings open.

Your eyes screw shut as light floods the pantry, waiting for the worst possible outcome as you shake, holding your measly bag in front of you.

"Please..." You mutter, whether it be to her or to a God or yourself, you don't know, "Don't hurt me..."

#first meeting #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

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carionto · 7 months

Text

Predator mode

Big Thrasher was not a happy camper after his first encounter with Humanity. There is a certain exponential curve to simple ballistic weapons, whereas shields, which start off way above, progress on a geometric line. E in = E out (mostly, some charge is lost in conversion) vs E=MC^2. He learned that the hard way when three of his toughest cruisers were reduced to space dust by, as he later learned to his horror, a mid-sized transport ship using Human standard issue rail cannons.

Someone smart would move on and avoid Humanity. Big Thrasher isn't a complete idiot, but he is a prideful and narcissistic pirate captain. Thus his ability to make sensible decisions is handicapped severely. Now he has made a most dubious one indeed:

Infiltrate a Human science station and steal all their secrets and use them to get sweet, juicy, delicious revenge!

Finding one was disturbingly easy, there's so many of them. Like, at least one for each star system within eighty light years from Sol, one for each planet within thirty, and then it just gets ridiculous within Sol itself. Oddly enough, despite their size, typically there are no more than ten people aboard, almost all Human, only a few are joint Coalition.

Thinking long and hard (something Big Thrasher is not a fan of) he decided on his target - a lone station on the very outskirts of publicly known Human activity and furthest away from any major Coalition systems.

When his reconstructed fleet arrived behind the local gas giant, the station was sitting in mid orbit of the inner rock planet and was broadcasting something strange on open channels - a melodic chant of sorts:

"..live on a Yellow Submarine! A Yellow Submarine! A Yellow Submari.."

whatever that meant. No matter, Big Thrasher's fleet was moving in on the target, stealth drives on, weapons ready, numbers on their side, element of surprise - the perfect ambush.

...

Where did the station go?

Before Big Thrasher could register neural activity to try and answer that, it appeared. Behind them. And a small explosion happened moments earlier where it used to be, but the main concern was the station firing its stabilizer thrusters to rotate it at incredible speeds, then a long blade slicing one of his ships in two. Then it disappeared again. And another small explosion.

Once more, it suddenly reappeared behind another one of his ships and did the same thing, but this time used its thrusters to quickly move towards the vessel and impale it on a massive spike. Disappear. Small explosion in its place.

Three. Four. Five. They're losing ships by the second. A literal space station sized target and they can't keep track of it, let alone land a single hit. How is it teleporting? What are those explosions?

WHY IS A SPACE STATION ENGAGING HIS PIRATE SPACE SHIP FLEET IN MELEE COMBAT!

WHY WOULD ANYONE THINK TO DO THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE!?!

WHY IS IT WINNING!?!??!

Big Thrasher once again order an emergency retreat, what remained of his fleet scattered to randomly selected quick hyperjump coordinates, and would regroup in a few weeks time.

_______________________

Aboard the experimental development station Tree of Grating Whispers the crew of seven were hastily putting out fires and trying not to throw up from all the gee forces they just endured, kinetic dampeners be damned.

A few hours later, all in their environmental suits, as the life support system was dead, they convened for an after-action report:

"Right, so, good news and bad news. Good news - short range teleporter works perfectly. Bad news - each unit doesn't teleport with us and just explodes, further data has been unrecoverable so far.

Good news - rapid action thruster and kinetic combat mode works. Bad news - can't have biologicals onboard and even moderately durable systems break after a few swings.

Overall, I'd say this has been a success (unanimous nodding). Let's get to working out the kinks and we'll have a presentable version for the military. We'll also have to thank those pirates for not masking their engine heat trails, this was a great field trial guys, real proud of everyone!"

The chief says, while high on painkillers (and so is the rest of the crew), as another part of the station self-immolates.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #humor #story #scifi

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mayashesfly · 28 days

Text

Thinking about Young Vox sending Alastor fan letters to his radio show when they were both alive.

Alastor was having a bad day after a particularly feisty prey of his messed up his best suit. In hindsight, he should've changed clothes before commiting to his act. However, he didn't have the time and now he has to go to work being seen with subpar clothing by his supervisors.

Not that it matters much to his listeners, no no of course not. After all, radio was still the best way to express ones self even when there were rumors popping out about those rudimentary picture boxes. So he doesn't need to worry much about his appearance for his audience.

However, he still doesn't want there to be any rumors about his home life because of his subpar clothing. Noone needs to know what happens to his personal life after all

As he sits in his station, he readies the script he already prepared and the catalog of songs he was going to broadcast before going on air.

He keeps the smile in his face and in his voice as he performs for his beloved audience. Even when a part of his mind wanted nothing more than grit his teeth as he remembers the small puffs of laughter and snorts when his coworkers saw his clothes.

Truly, it was too bad none of them were as bad as his usual victims. He would've already killed them otherwise.

As the music segment began, he started shifting through the pile of fan letters he acquired. Most were unimportant or junk mail much to his chagrin. But there were a few written by his beloved fans that warmed his heart upon reading them, regardless of how brief or convoluted.

A certain letter caught his eye upon seeing it came from New York of all places, a rather long journey compared to the other letters. The fame of his radio show was rather local after all.

Curiosity piqued, he picked up the letter before carefully opening it.

His eyes widened upon seeing it mention his ethnicity. He swore he didn't say any of the sorts during one of his broadcasts but still- rather than find disgust or any filthy words of the sorts, he found admiration and appreciation.

"It's hard acting like someone else just for your safety. But it makes me happy that I'm not alone in feeling this way"

The letter had said, penned under the name Vincent.

Vincent.

What a lovely name.

He said his mother was of German descent and had told him stories of a "kobold" of sorts among other things his mother had taught him.

He smiled upon being reminded of his own mother.

Before the letter said that his radio broadcasts never fail to put a smile on his face. Happy to hear another's voice with such a compelling delivery of words and stories.

And his heart swelled with pride.

It was a bit humorous, if not slightly concerning, with how much information he can glean from a single letter.

It had warmed his heart nonetheless.

And he found himself smiling more naturally as he finished the music segment and started to offer acknowledgement and appreciation for the fan letters his audience has given him.

Somewhere else, within a cold empty house... a lonely boy smiled upon hearing those words.

"Thank you for the wonderful words you've send me"

"It has really warmed my heart knowing I am not alone"

#may asher writes #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #radiostatic #staticradio #voxal

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anqelically · 10 months

Note

ranpo + dialogue prompt 5 pretty please? i want to suffer and have my heart crushed by you pls <3

losing game | ranpo edogawa x gn!reader

word count: 1.2k

content: no manga spoilers, angst

navi | bsd masterlist | event (closed)

you knew people always yearn for something that isn’t good for them. you’ve witnessed it before your very eyes. over and over, you watched as they chased after the momentarily satisfying moments, even if the effects would hurt. you weren’t immune to taking such actions, though you wished you were.

your feelings burdened your shoulders, so heavily that you only wished for them to wash away. to love someone is a double-edged sword, and it pierced your heart painfully so.

the armed detective agency was an organization of ability users that dealt with, for the most part, other ability users. an unsolved mystery that was keeping the nation on its toes is what led you to be partnered up with ranpo. despite his hesitance to work with you, you managed to prove yourself useful.

when ranpo wasn’t busy with other work with agency, you spent almost all your time together. you’d give him reports and evidence that was newly found, and he’d start to put the pieces of the whole puzzle together.

there were also days when the two of you would go to cafes or bakeries, the large case forgotten in your minds. you think it was those times that caused you to fall for ranpo.

he would act childish and take heavy pride in his “ability”, yet that never stopped your heart from skipping a beat in his presence. his small acts of kindness, such as protecting you from criminals during interrogations or giving you a snack when you were overworking, had always made you sure of the truth.

you love him, and it’s a shame.

the case was eventually solved, therefore ending the working relationship that you and ranpo had formed. the final day would be during a party that celebrated the fact that the infamous case had been solved.

you stood on one of the many balconies of the building while the breeze embraced you in its cool touch. you managed to slip outside without anyone at the celebration stopping you. it was difficult, considering the number of people inside.

you were by yourself outside for a while before another presence joined you. donned in a charming suit, ranpo approached your lone figure. he held a cup of dark brown liquid that you assumed to be soda. ranpo didn’t like to drink liquor.

“what are you doing out here?” you asked.

ranpo took a sip of his soda, “i saw you walk out earlier.”

“just when i thought i could go unnoticed,” you chuckled. “nothing slips past your eyes, huh?”

silence engulfed the two of you like an itchy blanket. you tapped your foot mindlessly as the alcohol you drank flooded your body. ranpo said nothing as you drank, staring at the star-littered sky. on the other hand, your body was getting hot despite the cool weather.

you decided to speak up, “hey, ranpo?”

“yeah?” he hummed.

“after this… do you think we’ll ever get to work together again?”

you didn’t dare look at ranpo after you asked that. you could feel his gaze wander to your figure, but your eyes remained on the scenery beneath the balcony. the large garden kept your eyes fancied as you waited for a response.

“the chances are low.” your heart sunk at the harsh truth that escaped ranpo’s lips. “a case like this to work on comes very rarely. not only that, but your base of operations isn’t even in yokohama. your normally stationed hours away, so working together was unforeseen in the first place. the odds that we’d land a large-scale case like this again obviously seems almost impossible.”

every word ranpo spoke— you already knew it. you were aware that you’d probably never see him again unless the two of you take the time out of your schedules to.

once you leave yokohama and get back to your normal work, you’re sure you’ll be busy like you always were. ranpo would probably be in the same state, considering that his incredible deduction skills were needed all over the country.

your head began to pound, so you took in a deep breath and exhaled through your mouth. your fingers curled around the balcony’s railing as you gathered all the courage you had so you could face him properly.

“i have something to confess,” you faced ranpo bravely, “and i know you probably will, but i want you to be completely honest with me. please, no tricky words or phrases, or telling me code i have to decipher. i… i want to hear exactly what you have to say.”

ranpo merely hummed at your words, urging you to continue. you swallowed the saliva building in your throat before you stared him in the eyes. tension suspended in the air as ranpo waited for you to speak. but as your eyes remained on his, you couldn’t speak your truth.

your lips opened and shut as you tried to spill the truth, but all the courage you had built up dissipated. you were going to lower your head in shame until ranpo made the first move. he stepped towards you and lifted his arm. in a second, your eyes were covered by his hand.

“if you can’t look at me, then don’t.”

your heart swelled at his gesture. ranpo’s free hand held your shoulder, his body close to yours. it was odd, really. the one that caused you to be nervous was also the reason you were able to calm down.

“ranpo, i… i love you.”

a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders when you confessed to him. though he didn’t respond yet, you knew the relief was short-lived. you were afraid of what was going to come next.

“y/n… i can’t return those feelings.” and there it was. “you’re a good colleague, a good friend, but that’s all you are to me.”

“yeah,” you took the hand that covered your eyes and slowly dropped it to your sides, “i guessed so. i don’t think you would fall for someone like me in such time.”

defeat was etched into your features. you expected it, of course you did, but hearing the words hurt deeper than you thought. you turned your head away from him. you swallowed back any incoming tears you felt coming your way.

“ah, well i hope you at least know that spending time with you made me happy.”

you sent him another glance before you attempted to rush away. you were going to go back inside to the party of people if it weren’t for ranpo’s hand catching your arm.

“you have something else to say.”

“no i don’t,” you denied.

his grip loosened, “you do.”

“i…” your lips parted as you couldn’t help but admit, “ it’s just… it’s twisted in a way. i never stood a chance the moment i realized i fell for you. i know that now, i do. your confident smile, your boisterous laugh— i love it. i love you, ranpo, and that’s why this is a losing game. you can’t return the love i have for you, and i can’t ask you to.”

ranpo watched as your eyes began to glisten beneath the moonlight. and when those tears finally began to spill, you were quick to wipe them away. it was stupid, you thought. you didn’t want to cry in front of him, yet your tears kept coming.

as you cried, ranpo gently pushed your head to his chest. you gripped the ends of his suit jacket as you quietly sobbed, pushing your head further into his clothing.

people always yearn for something that isn’t good for them. and for you, it was a love that could never be returned in full.

note: COLEE!! thank you sm for the request <33 i hope this had crushed your heart in some sorta way :o (i actually think this angst isn’t really that heavy but yeah..) and hopefully ppl were tagged in this, on my end my tags are being weird

reblogs are appreciated + join my taglist !

@seisitive @enomane @er0ses @spenzitz @wineaddict2904 @aeshiiteiru @chuuyrr @ashthemadwriter @sanjis-fav-w1fe @bejeweledgirl @ma3mae @piichuu @dreamlessimp @4nthonyyliving

#୨୧ [ writing ]#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #ranpo x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd angst #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs angst

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callmelyc · 1 month

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Keith, a mouse knight, is set to guard the garden of flowers with all his tiny might. His big ears help him hear intruders and his small form helps him run to warn the others.

His station is next to a row of colors, his favorite being one beautiful and blue. It starts pale but grows more vibrant with every passing day bringing the sky down to Keith's tiny eyes as it begins to sprout above him.

However, his job is lonely. Keith sits diligent next to his flowers and keeps all bugs away that would harm it but he does it alone with not a soul to speak to. So, he starts speaking to the flowers.

Keith can't remember where but he once heard that talking to the plants helps them grow big and strong and with great pride he notices it to be true. His favorite flower flourishes under his tales and conversation. It's colors so magical, so very blue with a sort of glow to it. Seeing his flower has become Keith's favorite part of his day.

Once it's in full bloom Keith's duty extends into the night and he's gifted the blessing of watching the moonlight kiss his flowers soft petals. He wonders if being so vibrant at all hours can be tiring, if being so beautiful can be bothersome. Keith swears to his flower that no matter what he will stand by it, protect it and the beauty it brings.

when he declares this promise something magical happens. The flower glows brighter, this time with real magic, and right before the mouse knights very eyes a new form is born. This one is sleek and just as small as Keith, with ears just as round and big to hear with.

Tiny eyes blink back and a happy squeak sounds before Keith is hugged tight in tiny paws.

His flower became a mouse, a mouse nonetheless beautiful as the petals Keith admired day and night.

The mouse says his name is Lance, and Lance thanks Keith for his loyal guard. He is a prince of many, he tells Keith. His bloodline born from the flowers but the tricky part is no one can ever tell which it will be.

So, as legend says, guards are set to keep watch of the flowers in hopes the next will be a new prince. Thanks to Keith's lovely companionship and sweet devotion Lance couldn't wait any longer to meet.

Lance tells Keith every last thing he admired of the knight from his spot above. How Keiths stories were the best, how his songs he'd hum were better than birdsong. How his words of administration made Lances heart swell.

He tells Keith he is more beautiful than the night sky and the stars within it and Keith finally admits to Lance how he finds him more beautiful than the summer sky.

Together they return from Keith's guard with the news of a new prince and together they rule over the garden as the tiny mice Kings.

Paw and paw, love greater than the spring blooms all thanks to a mouse guard and his flower.

#voltron #vld #lance vld #lance mcclain #vld lance #keith kogane #klance #keith x lance #keith voltron #fairy tales #fairytale vibes #ill make up anything and make it them i swear

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smilingbuckley · 1 month

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I honestly believe we'll eventually get Buddie. At Fox I was 50/50, but now? I see it this way:

ABC picked the show up knowing about fan favorites - they have had to do their research obviously and Buddie love is pretty loud

They have seen what Chenford did (The Rookie). Chenford wasn't supposed to be together, but eventually, they saw the love the fans had for them and now they're a couple! The writers/ABC listened. And then So Many People (including me) became inspired to watch that show. What do you think would happen if Buddie goes canon?

ABC isn't shy when it comes to queer relationships and characters. FOX... well, I keep being surprised Lone Star is a FOX show because as far as I know, FOX has a certain reputation.

The actors know us. They know our love for Buddie. Oliver has faced backlash for liking fans' posts about Buddie. Have you seen the easy way they talk now? They KNOW that if we don't get hints at Buddie after all the teasing and snippets and hints, there will be a major backlash. I don't think Oliver and Ryan would be nearly as excited in interviews as they are if they knew it's gonna be against fan's wishes

About the previous point, ABC knows this too. I doubt they want that as the new network. It would not be a good look.

A queer couple of main characters often gets hyped up. I'm still of the opinion that Henren deserves that too (they deserve so much more hype and love and screentime in general). But 2 main characters get noticed more. (Sadly in this society people often ignore sapphic ships in general and focus more on gay ships)

The slowburn could go down in history and they are all well aware of that. When you think about older shows (because they don't really make long shows anymore) usually the most popular ships are slowburn. I remember the fandom blowing up when Stydia (Teen Wolf) got canon. I personally started watching Bones because I knew it had a good and torturous slowburn. I just finished Suits and oooffff the slowburn was good and well worth the wait

In conclusion: Buddie going canon would be great for viewership, fans engagement with the show, marketing/popularity, I'm guessing more viewers means more money so also on that point. They would immensely profit from it.

Also... what's stopping them? Fox worried about casual viewers. Mostly certain kinds of viewers with certain kinds of opinions (*ahem* homophobes *ahem*) ABC doesn't give a shit. ABC is LOUD. Station 19 just had an episode dedicated to pride. IT WAS FILLED WITH RAINBOWS. FIREFIGHTERS WERE WEARING RAINBOW LOGO SHIRTS. ABC doesn't give a shit about the haters. They showed the impact that the protests against it made. MORE IMPORTANTLY, THEY ARE OBVIOUSLY AGAINST THE HOMOPHOBES. They shed them in an obvious bad light. Fox would never.

The way ABC embraced 911. They would 100% go for it.

Do I think we'll get Buddie canon in this season? No. Definitely not with a season 8 renewal. However, I think there's a very high chance that we will get a more obvious hint.

Either Buck will confess his feelings for Eddie to someone (to Bobby or Maddie, could also Hen)

Maybe we'll just end with queer confirmation which I'll still see as a hint for future Buddie because it's a step forward and by now they are well aware it's what we want.

Maybe both have feelings realizations

Hell, maybe the season ends will a cliffhanger of a love confession

Would be hilarious if the season ends focused on Buck or Eddie and the last line is 'Shit, I think I'm in love with Buck/Eddie'

Whatever it is. I have hope. More hope than last season. And I have a gut feeling we don't have to worry so much.

So let's stop fighting about will they won't they. Focus on the journey. We're getting there. We're on our way. Lets all enjoy this together.

Because possible between now and another year, the waiting could be over. They'll be canon and things will truly shift. And fandoms change. Fanfics change. Some people lose interest the second a ship gets together (I won't).

Thanks for reading my essay

#911 spoilers #911 #evan buckley #buddie #eddie diaz #911 abc #911 on abc #911 season 7 #abc

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qvrcll · 4 months

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fluff, inclined towards book coryo + possessive themes

unsuspecting, is how your jostling romance with coriolanus snow would start. how anything would start. romantic relationships weren’t prohibited per se, but were frowned upon. peacekeeper training was for strengthening the nation and the arms that would carry it across the years, not to dilly dally between the stretches of grins and a swipe of a kiss. and knowing the stickler for rules that coriolanus was, he would stop at nothing to keep it that way.

foolish, foolish coriolanus. for who could have thought that the newest recruit could be up for debate. that you would be a change of heart? sure - unarguably so. he sees you first in the night, sidling into the cabin when everything else falls hush. and he’d been having nightmares, more so than usual, of doctor gaul and her endless menageries of sickly bright snakes, their sweeping tongues of venom, so it isn’t funny that he’d been awake for a smidge of the night. when he swipes a glance from atop his bunk, it’s not the crack of another boring recruit that he makes out in the cold nighttude. no, you’re sweet faced and hurling a duffle-bag against your share of the bunk. right beneath his. strange. he’s never seen you before. late enrolment? a stirred-up schedule? something other?

and why should he care? as enticing as you are, he is far from accustomed to this place. a boring sort of repulsion has begun to haunt his role in his own life and he’s grown hateful of almost everything in a manner that is almost pathetic. but, hey, you’re going to rip off your arm trying to sling that thing over your bed at this rate. and you’re making a racket, something so loud that he may as well lay in the ambience of your failures. plus, you have piqued his interest. with a swift whorl of his ankles, he lands on two wobbly knees and wordlessly grabs the duffle strap you’re wrestling with, “need help with that?”

when you let out an embarrassed smile, and agree, it’s a polite scattering that you commit to when he helps you - a mere stranger - unpack. keep your belongings in stationed lockers. make the bed and fist the sheets between the corners. between the humiliating exchange (more-so on your end) you exchange names. explain that you’d been freshly relieved from your life in the districts and sent here as a way to harbour cash for folk back home. not necessarily family, but known folk. people you hold dear. and coriolanus cannot despise the reasoning, with his own reason of keeping the snows afloat back in the capitol. so, a mutual understanding perches from there on and he tests the syllables of your name with sticky interest when you put your bodies to rest.

and that’s it, right? except, it’s not. he seeks you out more. prideful as he is, coriolanus is a lonely man. even more, now that he’d been tossed apart from a life he knew best, like a fawn in the wild. at lunch, he sits ahead of you and makes conversation despite the slobber on his plate. at training, he offers incentive when your knees buck during drills. because this is just a simple friendship and he enjoys you like the sun. a friendship that doesn’t feel so forced and guarded as the ones he has loathed.

“quick,” you whisper all too loudly at him once, when you’d lingered outside of your parameter of patrol, bound to be in trouble with the head peacekeeper, “if we’re lucky, we’ll sneak in through some window?”

the thing had been phrased as a question and it only made coriolanus more antsy. what’s worse to handle, a snow strewn to the edges of peacekeeper training as an alternative to expulsion or being caught within in, slacking and spending too much of a time with his fellow bunkmate? his fingers are messy, slippery, against his sides when the two of you are hounded and hoarded into the office of the said headpeacekeeper. is this it, he thinks, my brilliant plan of return just squeezing into a failure? until, he hears your voice boiling at his side.

“it was my fault,” your voice trembles, but is forthright in your admission, “it was my idea. i should have known better.”

even as the two of you are equally subject to the same punishment (kitchen work and twice the normal borders) in the flimsy heat, he cannot brush the thought of you taking the fall for him in his head. it should’ve hit as an insult, especially as it was accustomed in his nature to see it as such, but none of it comes. just a funny feeling as he bumps his shoulder into yours with a burst of shared laughter.

soon, he begins to feel important. wanted. a thing close to your heart when your friendship grows with his days as a new peacekeeper. a new occupation, a new change of heart. and you have long since stuck your hand into his chest and held his beating heart with ten curling fingers. a real friend. someone to accompany him on long, riveting walks. share silences with. fondle the mutual knowing of caring for people back at home with no shame strung with it. and so, it continues, this funny feeling.

“here,” you let up one day, passing a bag of ice cubes his way, swathed in a plastic bag, “keeps the skin cool.”

coriolanus accepts it with open hands - the heat has began to batter ruthlessly on everything he has ever known and something cool to stow away the burn it brings only sounds natural. as he slathers the cool thing all over himself, he spots you watching him. softly, not like the way a hawk does. less imposing and almost comical. sweet. god, when had he burned all his edges into soft corners?

“i’d say that staring is rude, but you’re making me laugh,” he chuckles between his palm, when he folds the bag back towards you. when you flush toward to grab it, your fingers brush softly. but he feels the wake of it in his belly. like bile but pleasant. eating away at his own organs like a bloody parasite. but he ignores it. classic. he cocks his head and minds the sun, “are you going to join us and head down to the hob this week?”

he eyes the drip of water as it curls into your neck and trails beneath your clothes, and when you glance back around him, he breaks his sight away to the rock beneath his boot. shit, why was he staring?

“probably will. i need it. you’ll be there, right?” and coriolanus feels airy, mushy, when you call for his presence to be the impressionable factor to bring you along. he doesn’t understand it, this feeling - he merely sits with it in his hands, much like the ice cubes. assumes that he’s never had this much pleasure within a friendship, yes, that must be it. so, he nods, like it was a brilliant thing to be half burnt and swelling under the sun with you, “of course.”

and then, it spirals, as it always does. he begins to grow jealous of the bunk mates who seek you out like he does. who don his place at the dinner table as theirs. who manage to claw a laugh from you the way he does. and he doesn’t understand. doesn’t understand the ugly, tilting feeling of his heart kissing the skin of his chest whenever you choose him above all things else, spot him in the mess of a crowd. never does, but will.

and that happens at the hob. when all of your cabin mates have gathered around the make-shift stools and chairs you’ve managed to grab, the trip blends in with alcohol. white liquor, they call it. and things will begin to build from thereon. it builds when coriolanus watches you over the rim of his cup when you cough after your shot, all hot cheeks and laughs when someone pats your back. it builds when you’re one too many bodies away from him, smashed between people you don’t even know, people that are not him. it builds when he can’t tell if it’s the glow from the dingy lights or if you’ve grown a halo, or exuding brighter than anything here.

and then it hits him. he’s fallen in love, so hard that he cannot stop to breathe or swallow the thick saliva that builds. this can’t be happening to him. to stupid and dumb-struck coriolanus snow, peacekeeper in training that has just broken code and gone awry with a romance he has been chasing with no sense.

he needs to squash it. this feeling. but how can he? when you cross across the space and reach him with inviting arms, hailing a smile in his direction like the world will tear with your gratitude stitched within it? when you’re pressing the side of your face into his with unmitigated glee? when you’re so close that he can smell you, feel you, wring your friendship so tight that your warmness is all that will come to greet him? no, no, he must—

and when he rips away from you, tells you he needs to catch some air because he cannot stomach the liquor in such heat, he curses when you follow in your confusion. even when he assures you he’s fine, just needs a minute, you’re tight on his heels. and when he throws a look over his shoulder, you’re wordlessly trailing still, like it is a thing to be stuck at the hip with him. and it gets to the point of bursting - he’s trying, is he not? to keep the two of you in the game. as modest peacekeepers. to run by the rules you’ve gotten by. so, he shuts your shoulders into the smash of a rock wall behind you, which wakes you up efficiently, keeps you in place. confusion still riddled in your eyes, but no harm. no repulsion. he almost hates you for it.

and he bursts — “i like you. okay? no, not like, love you. have for a while. and it’s gotten bad. i know you’ll hate me for it,” he breathes, a broken sound mixing with it, “please, please, do not make this hard. i’m trying. just—“ and… and you’re kissing him?

the kiss is not harsh or insulting. not something intruding. but he inhales sharply when you do it anyway, breathing you in like a drug, trying to commit the little noises you make to memory. try to remember you, in all the little pushes you allow and the plush of your lips, in case this is all an illusion. he kisses you in such a way that his lips run hot and his body shakes, rattles, in its frame, takes a minute to gather you all up in his arms.

“in what world do you think i don’t think the same, coryo?” you smile, fiddling with his biceps as you kiss the edge of his mouth till its twitching with a soft grin of his own.

“but the base… our duty—“

“between you and duty, you think i give a shit?,” his heart throbs at his importance and his hands tighten along your hip line, “a secret is a secret. if you want it to be.”

and when you move you mouth, grow heavy and hot in his hands as his tongue swipes into the little crack of the lips he’s grown to taste, there it is again. that very funny feeling. a thing he’s made peace between all his scuffle; love, undecidedly.

#coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas x reader

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the-dork-urge · 2 months

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|| Stone and earth || Zevlor X Tav

Summary: In which a cold Tav helps Zevlor and realizes how lonely it must be hidden away in a damp alcove. Just a quick little fic. (can even be a prequel to this ) Wordcount: 1235

Tav meticulously traced the intricate paths on the map, her brow furrowed in concentration. Despite their focus, an unyielding chill seemed to seep deeper into her bones with each passing moment; Tav longed for even a fleeting warmth.

A sidelong glance at Zevlor revealed a subtle flicker of orange fire dancing in his dark eyes. Tav's heart fluttered, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her—feelings unspoken. The comfort she felt in his presence and the quickened pulse at the sound of his voice left her questioning: were these emotions born solely from shared hardships, or did they hint at something more profound?

Unfazed by the cold, Zevlor maintained focus on the maps. Recollections of the tieflings' natural warmth prompted Tav to subtly shift closer, seeking solace in his comforting heat.

As Tav pointed to the Goblin Camp on the map, her hand rested on the table's edge, the other hovering near the camp's perimeter. "Your scouts reported a guard patrol stationed here?" she inquired, her voice steady as she studied the markings.

Zevlor leaned forward, his hand finding a place near Tav's. Her breath caught as she felt the warmth of his hand close to hers. Distracted momentarily, Zevlor gently held her hand, nudging her pointing finger to align with the correct location on the map.

"There," he said, still holding onto her hand. "And those are likely not the only ones," Zevlor continued, withdrawing his hands with a throat clearing, his gaze flickering away.

"Astarion's silver tongue might grant you entry past the first. Sneaking past them all seems improbable," he explained, his eyes returning to the map, his mind still reeling from their touch. Wishing for the courage to reach out again, to express how much her presence meant to him.

"Then perhaps we'll have to confront them head-on instead," Tav contemplated, meeting Zevlor's gaze with a faint blush on her skin.

Zevlor's worry was evident as he looked down at Tav. He wanted to object, to caution against such a risky approach. Tav and the others were his only hope, and the thought of losing her, not having her counsel and kindness during evenings like this, was unbearable.

With a heavy heart, he spoke. "Are you up for that? I have nothing to offer you in this fight." Admitting his shame, he contemplated alternatives, his gaze falling upon the maps. "Sending out another scouting party might be wise," he suggested, his voice carrying the burden of recent losses. "But after the massacre at the gate, I doubt anyone is willing to risk it. I would go myself if I could, but I can't leave them defenseless, not while we are still in this snakepit." Bitterness coated his words, disappointment etched across his face.

Tav placed a hand on his shoulder, and Zevlor relaxed into the gesture. "I appreciate it. All I need from you right now is trust," Zevlor turned to meet her gaze, "and perhaps a little prayer." Tav smiled, a worry mirroring his own, acknowledging the limited options. They had to go in, find the Druid Halsin, defeat the Goblins—for herself, her party, the tieflings, and Zevlor.

"I can do that," he said, a smile barely masking his worries. "Thank you, Tav."With a subtle nod, Tav acknowledged his gratitude, warmth blossoming within her. "You are very welcome," she replied, pride coloring her words as she looked back at the maps. "Alright, well, since that's settled, how about we have a drink?" Zevlor suggested, a twinkle in his eyes and a smile breaking through his worries. "I bet you could use one—the last one for a couple of days."

Tav chuckled. "A drink sounds like just the thing to take the edge off," she agreed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Setting aside the maps, they made their way to a small alcove in the cave, bottles of spirits stashed within. Tav wondered if these were the last of Zevlor's provisions as he bent down to grab them.

"Are you sure you don't want to save them?" she interrupted, her concern evident in her voice. Longing for the warmth of the spirits, she felt it more appropriate for Zevlor to save them for a time when they could celebrate victories.

Zevlor chuckled, a hidden sadness behind his smile. "And then drink them by myself?" he joked, the weight of their situation underlying his tone. "Nonsense." Handing her one of the final bottles, he added, "Besides, it's just a small way to thank you."

Tav accepted the bottle with a grateful nod. "Then I shall accept the offer." With a soft pop, she opened the bottle, the sound echoing in the quiet alcove. Zevlor followed suit, mirroring her actions.

"To your courage," Zevlor toasted, lifting his bottle in the air.

"And to your kin," Tav replied, clinking their bottle necks together. As their gazes met, she sensed something in Zevlor's expression—a complexity she couldn't quite decipher.

"To my kin," Zevlor repeated softly, his voice filled with a mix of astonishment and gratitude. It was as if he couldn't quite believe that Tav would raise a toast for them. Yet, why was he still so surprised by her kindness?

As they made their way back to the table, Tav took a seat on its top, the warmth from the drink spreading through her chilled body. As she settled in, she couldn't help but cast a lingering gaze around the alcove. It was a small, dimly lit space, tucked away in the depths of the Grove. The dampness of the surroundings seeped into the air, mingling with the faint scent of earth and stone.

Her eyes traced over Zevlor's personal belongings scattered around the alcove. A sense of sadness washed over her as she realized how many evenings he must have spent here alone before she came to aid him. Mustering the courage to speak, she pressed the bottle to her lips, taking big gulps, before placing it down beside her, a question formed on her lips. ''Are you lonely Zevlor?'' Tav's eyes wandered to the corner where Zevlor's messy bedroll lay tucked away. She imagined his restless nights in dark and damp solitude, carrying the burden of leadership by himself.At least she had her companions near her as she carried the burden of leadership, with them beside her, every task felt severely less daunting.

"I- it's," he stumbled quietly, seeking refuge in the bottle before continuing, "Tilly, she helps me during the day, it's company but..." His words trailed off, and a heavy silence settled between them. "When it's dark, I face the world alone." Tav's heart ached at his admission. She reached out her hand, a silent gesture inviting him closer. "If you'd like, I can stay a while longer," she offered her words lingering in the air. Zevlor hesitated briefly before extending his hand, allowing Tav to draw him nearer to the table.

"I'm cold, Zevlor. Come sit beside me," she encouraged, feeling the warmth in his touch as he complied. As he settled beside her, he took one last sip from his bottle for courage, feeling Tav gently lean her head onto his shoulder.

"We're in this together, Zevlor," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible as she reached for his hand. Zevlor's heart swelled with gratitude at her words, squeezing her hand in return.

-> Masterlist

#zevlor #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #zevlor x tav #grove #fluff #ilovethisman

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redhead-batgal · 4 days

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Sneak Peek of I'm With You

This is a sneak peek of the part two, to I Feel A Sin Coming On (HERE). It's basically a Fem! Student! & Soulmate! X Damian Wayne/Robin and likeeee the angst has called to me so why not 😈

You were six when you decided to loathe soulmates. Six when you swore on your very soul- your existence that you would never love your soulmate. You swore to live in misery of your own making rather than fates. No matter who they were, you would hate them.

But fate... well fate hated to be tested. So, fate did the worst thing it could. It made you fall for the one person you swore never to.

Your soulmate.

Your very own soulmate who seemed like the only light in the dark and suddenly you began questioning whether or not these feelings- these emotions you had thought were your own and genuine- were actually yours. Or if they were just fate pulling its strings and making you dance and dance and dance.

To say you were upset was an understatement and... well let's just say fate might be prideful, but you were twice as petty.

At age thirteen you shoved the emotions you had so dearly cherished so deep in your chest they seemed like nothing more than echoes of naive mind. You distanced yourself from him and only let yourself feel in your loneliest of moments.

Four years, it had nearly been four years since you had begun your battle against fate. And- and and fate was getting stronger... as you have been told. The older you get- the closer you are to your soulmate, the stronger the bond is.

Those moments... those lonely moments happened more often, and those stupid annoying emotions rose up with the beating of your traitorous heart.

Which is exactly how you ended up in the last place you ever wanted to be. Face to face with your soulmate... with them recognizing you and what you were to them.

"I'm your soulmate." Damian Fucking Wayne said his eyes locked on you as you felt your heart jump to your throat and all the color drain from your face.

"Fucking shit, " You whispered, unable to break his gaze.

Shaking- shaking you nervously laughed before looking at your bare wrist and you began gathering your things.

"Oh- oh would you look at the time!" You stammered shoving everything into your bag, "I need to get going."

Your book lay just in front of Damian and your eyes darted towards the book then him. With your heart hammering in your chest, you lunged for it. Fingers brushing its cover only for a hand to clasp around your wrist pulling you back towards the table. Damian- he- had had grabbed you. Half looking towards him you curled your fingers into your palm away from the book with had led you into this trap.

"I'm your soulmate," He said again as you avoided eye contact, "and you are mine."

Soulmate- god why did you have to care about him. Why- why-

WHY COULDN'T FATE JUST LEAVE YOU THE FUCK ALONE????

Petty- you were so violently petty and prideful- oh even fate knew this yet- it still tried... this- you wouldn't let this stand.

Forcing a breath out you bit your lip. Trembling, you raised your chin as your eyes burned, finally meeting his gaze and feeling his grip lighten.

"I don't have a soulmate... I won't have one. Not you- not any one... I don't believe in them."

His hand slid off of your wrist as his brow furrowed, you gave him a bitter smile as something warm spilled down your cheeks and you pulled yourself away from him.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get going."

Tag List: @andromedaj2003 @thomasbeloved @instabull @zvtanna @daemonnix96 @neon-scenery @ssak-i @achromaticerebus @1lellykins @hyperfixiation-station @legendarylearner18

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redhairedwolfwitch · 9 months

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Photograph of A World on Fire (4) - Andy Herrera x DeLuca!Sister!Reader - Station 19/Grey's Anatomy

Summary: The world might be on fire with a pandemic happening, and you and Andy face loss after loss, but the two of you stick together and become even closer through it all.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Request: hey 💓 could you write a deluca!sister x amelia fic where r is a cheeky italian which puts amelia in gay panic mode x

A/n: this diverts from canon like a curly wurly chocolate bar, also mentions a one night stand, there's no smut but it's alluded to, so, read at your own risk, and don't ask me where this happens in canon, because that will give me another headache:) (i gave myself that headache and followed canon slightly... ooof, warning, canon character death incoming)

A/n: to whoever reads this, you are important.

Andy found out her mother was alive, and then three weeks later, a pandemic set the world on fire.

Andy's mother left, and her father told her that her mother had died, rather than her mother had abandoned her due to mental illness.

Your brother and sister were determined to quarantine away from you, and with Andy in a bubble at the firehouse, you were isolated from everyone.

Andy had enlisted herself in distracting herself about her mother by going to an art store, masked up with a list of supplies for you so you could keep making your art from home. Andy didn't know you had gotten out of the car, sitting on the bonnet with your camera, photographing the empty streets.

You didn't know it was the start of one of two projects during the pandemic that would make your career flourish, as you sat in your black attire, watching the funeral of Pruitt Herrera, that due to the pandemic had to be done online. Watching as Andy spoke, you couldn't hide the love in your eyes for this woman. This woman of fire. Your fiamma.

///

Your brother sat on your porch as you sat in the hallway, talking to each other through an open door.

"I found inspiration, for two big projects."

"Two big projects? Wow, that's amazing, angioletta. I hope I get to see them before Carina." Andrew smiled, the pride in his eyes obvious.

"Oh she'd be so mad!" You laughed, remembering the last time Andrew had seen your artwork before Carina did, and how jealous she got despite trying to hide it.

"How's your girlfriend?" Andrew threw you off, almost dropping your snack on the carpet in surprise at his question, but you took a moment before replying.

"She is at a family picnic for the first time in twenty years, and I didn't want to impose y'know. Plus, everyone is so determined to quarantine, I'm isolated from everyone and everything, but my art." You admitted, spotting the sad look on your big brother's face at your confession. You were feeling lonely.

///

"It probably won't help if I tell them that I have a girlfriend too." Andy admitted to her cousin Michelle, whose eyes lit up at Andy's admittance.

"You do? Tell me everything!"

"She's an artist, with two older siblings, who are both doctors, but she is my saving grace in this, this cruel world." Andy confessed, getting her phone out to show her cousin a photo of you, and some photos of your art.

///

Your phone buzzed as Vic sent you a video, getting your brother's attention as you gasped.

"There, there was a tiger, in the firehouse... a tiger... that's not totally terrifying!" forwarding the video to your brother, who checked his phone.

///

Fiamma: you don't have any vagina art, do you?

Cariño: that's more my sister's interior design style...

Cariño: good luck to Maya

///

"You know, on the nights we don't have dinner together. I eat canned green beans for dinner, out of the can." Andy confessed as she watched you stand over the hob, stirring your wooden spoon into something that smelt amazing.

"Fiamma, that's disgusting."

///

Andrew's text sent horror through your body as you read it. He and Carina were following a human trafficker. And nobody was answering their phone. Not Andrew, not Carina, not Andy, and not even Maya. Miranda and Ben weren't answering either, so you ran out of your house, tracking your big sister's phone as you got in your car.

Your brother was good, he was stable, taking his meds, getting sleep. Your sister had moved in with Maya, she was happy as she could be without missing Italy and stressing over your father.

Warren and Maya began to call you as Ben read your message, realising you were going after your big siblings.

///

"Announcement! Uh, Carina and her brother Andrew are... well... they're following one of the kidnappers, and uh, Y/n is going after her siblings apparently so..." Maya nervously explained, about to tell Andy off for hurriedly getting her phone but Warren shook his head.

"Probably going to call Y/n. They're, they're friends."

///

"Carina, Andrew, there's something you should know. Y/n is on her way to you, I'm guessing nobody's kept your little sister in the loop."

"Angioletta? No, she could get hurt. How does she know where we are?" Carina began to panic, hearing what Maya said.

"She's probably tracking our phones." Andrew deadpanned, knowing it was too late to stop you.

///

You knew they were at the Seattle Transit Station, running as you spotted Carina heading through the doors of the station. Speed-walking after your siblings, you barely made it onto the train before the doors shut, quickly making your way up the carriage until you landed in the seat next to Andrew, sandwiching him in the middle of you and Carina.

"What are you doing-"

"You both scared me. Plus nobody knows who I am so..." you trailed off, whispering in Italian to obscure your words to any non-Italian speakers.

The three of you watched as another passenger stood up and moved away from the three of you.

"My first time being profiled as an Italian."

///

"Stay back, angioletta." Carina whispered, as your siblings stood up to follow the human trafficker off of the train.

"Go find Ben and the police, I'm not losing her again." Andrew instructed, leaving Carina to nod and get out her phone. That was Carina's mistake as she took her eyes off of you, who ran after her big brother like she did when she was a toddler.

But Carina lost sight of you both, stuck rallying the first responders. She didn't see what you saw. The man barge into your big brother, and stab him.

"NO! Help! Help! Call 911!" You screamed loud enough that Carina heard you, hurrying over to see you putting pressure on a stab wound. A stab wound in your big brother's chest.

"We're here, we're here!" you sobbed, as Warren got your brother on a gurney, Maya holding back Carina as you curled up on the floor, hands covered in your brother's blood.

Carina cleaned your hands as you sat numbly in the back of the aid car, Maya and Ben treating your brother, and Carina recalling songs from your childhoods to soothe your brother's pain.

///

Sitting in the Grey Sloan outdoor waiting room, you were numb as you saw the look in the approaching doctor's eyes.

Your brother was dead.

///

In grieving, Carina shut down, but you threw yourself into your art projects. Carina had Maya to keep an eye on her, but you...

Andy was there for you. Andy was there when you didn't sleep at night, staring at a blank canvas until you started to paint, she sat and watched you. You didn't want to talk, your big brother was your lifeline.

"Okay, I know your French toast is better, and so is Carina's, but it's the only thing I know how to make for breakfast." Andy explained, bringing a tray into your spare room aka your art room at this point.

"Looks delicious." You managed to smile, but Andy was taken off guard as you pulled her into a hug, burying your face in her neck and not letting go.

"I'm acting captain today... are you sure you'll be okay alone?" Andy asked, her fingernails running gently over your scalp as she cradled your head.

"I have food and water. I just want to paint my grief, because I don't know how else to express it. Talking doesn't work, talking makes me miss him, even if he's with our mama now." You replied, but Andy saw the look on your face when you spotted the red paint on the palette. She didn't see how it reminded you of your brother's blood on your hands as you sat in the aid car, numb and hoping it wasn't his time.

Your siblings may have called you angioletta, little angel, but your brother was the angel among you now.

Your mother called Andrew and Carina two halves of a whole, but you needed both of them. You were away from Carina for so long growing up, all you had was your brother.

Now he was gone, Carina was stuck with the paperwork, and you buried yourself in your art. Minus any red paint, which Andy had removed after seeing the far away look on your face at the sight of it.

///

Carina called you hours later, asking if you had spoken to your father at all. You hadn't, but somehow he had heard two days ago that your brother died, and he didn't call either of you.

Andy found you sitting on your porch on her return home, in the spot where your brother had once sat, with a portfolio she hadn't seen before in your hands.

"Andrew was supposed to be the first person to see my projects, but he's..." you trailed off, opening the first page to reveal the photographs you had taken of empty Seattle streets.

"I've never seen Seattle so empty."

"Exactly." You let out a wet chuckle, holding back your tears until Andy met your gaze with a faltering smile at your crying.

///

Maya Bishop: A Doctor Gabriella Aurora just turned up here

Y/n DeLuca: you'll be okay, it's been a long time since medical school, trust me.

Maya Bishop: Come over and help me?

Y/n DeLuca: i'm having dinner with my girlfriend tonight. i'm cooking too.

Maya Bishop: Girlfriend?

*left on read 4:21pm*

///

"You know your sister has a girlfriend?" Maya enquired as she walked through the Grey Sloan car park with Carina, hand in hand.

"I assumed she had someone living with her. She had two mugs out when I surprised her one morning, and someone gave her a neck bruise."

"A hickey?" Maya raised an eyebrow, wondering how long you and whoever it was had been dating.

"Yes, a hickey. My sister is not a fan of double dates though." Carina added before Maya could get any ideas.

///

"I still haven't met your girlfriend. I even met your ex-roommate before I met her." Andy's cousin Michelle pointed out, after pointing out how Andy had gone to every barbecue and not brought you with her.

"My girlfriend lost her brother and her sister is very protective and doesn't want her getting the virus... and we still haven't told her sister we're dating, or that I moved in so..." Andy trailed off as Michelle's eyes widened.

"Oh so it's serious?"

"She's my saving grace."

///

"My visa expires next month." Carina explained to you, making you flinch. You and Andrew had citizenship, but Carina was here on a visa for her study.

"You have to go back to Italy? They shut down the immigration offices... Carina..."

"Angioletta..." Carina whispered, letting out a squeak as you pulled her into a tight hug, fear setting in that you would lose the only family you had left in America.

///

Carina and Maya were unaware of how well you really knew Andy, until it came to your brother's memorial in the Grey Sloan car park.

Amelia wasn't there, even if she had mentored your brother for a time. You hadn't thought of the neurosurgeon in a long time, having removed all traces of her from your portfolio, your life and your memory.

Whilst Maya held Carina in the car park, you sat on the ground, holding your knees to your chest until arms wrapped around you, and Andy was almost cooing in Spanish, calming you as you clung to her, mask soaked with tears.

Neither of them had any time to judge, but both were unaware you and Andy really knew each other as more than friends. Any assumption they had was wrong. Andy and yourself were well acquainted.

You didn't hide your relationship with Andy. She was at the firehouse a lot, not wanting to bring covid home back to you, since Maya and Carina were further along in their relationship and when Andy had moved in with you, she tried her best to keep you safe.

Everyone wanted to protect you, but they were isolating themselves from you to try keep you safe.

One of your art projects had been inspired by frontline workers, gaining attention online as people wanted to buy the works, the money going to charities to support people during the pandemic... you were flourishing, and your big brother couldn't see it from anywhere but above, whilst your sister and your girlfriend could see it, and you, but chose not to as often.

Your second project reflected another side to the pandemic, photography of the empty streets, void of all life. Almost apocalyptic in a sense.

Andy spent more time with you than Carina did, but you and your sister handled grief differently.

The fire between you and Andy burned brighter than anything else. An eternal flame.

"What are you painting this time? Is that a heart on fire?" Andy peeked over your shoulder, her chin resting on it as her hands hovered over your waist, hesitant to touch in case she messed up your brushstrokes.

"It was supposed to be symbolic, fires of love? Eternal flame? I think I'm better at realism... the portraits reflect that." You shrugged, gesturing to the paintings on the other side of the room.

"You are the sweetest but your sister and Maya should be here in an hour, and you are wearing more paint than clothes." Andy pointed out, her eyes widening as you smirked, walking backwards to guide her to the shower.

"Maybe you should join me, to make sure I get all the paint off."

"I would like that very much, but we need to-" Andy began to point out the lack of time, but you shushed her as you leaned in, waiting until she met you halfway, the hour countdown until Maya and Carina's arrival forgotten about...

///

#andy herrera x reader #station 19 x reader #station 19 imagine #andy herrera imagine #carina deluca x sister!reader #andrew deluca x sister!reader #grey's anatomy x reader #grey's anatomy imagine #station 19 imagines #grey's anatomy imagines

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