#[[the red spot probably reminds al of a stab wound or something]] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hiemaldesirae · 2 months

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Thorn here:

Alastor's starts his usual broadcast when he realizes his muse has unlocked his side of their shared frequency--and of *course* Al takes advantage, how could he not? It would be entertaining to mess with dear Vox, after all, hadn't he told him to never let any weakness show towards what he thought was an enemy? (Not that he would ever, ever permanently hurt his precious, precious, picture box. Remind him of lessons he should have already learn so he could continue to live, so he could return to Alastor's side, once and for all? Of course!)

So he puts on jazz music mixed with previous overlord and sinner screams, before falling into the frequency to find out what Vox is up too--only to SNARL in RAGE as agonizing pain reaches him from Vox.

He rips himself from the deep immersion, antlers scraping the ceiling as he stands up. "VOX," He breathes, melting into the shadows and disappearing from his radio tower.

He appears in Vox's room, his shadow moving towards the room's door, stretching over it until it covers it completely. The scent of Vox's blood fills the air, and Alastor snarls again.

He stalks over to Vox's nest of blankets, eyes on the still figure resting within. He hisses as he catches sight of Vox's Broken and bleeding tail lying limp outside of the nest, before he sees the hastily wrapped stomach wound and the gauze pressed onto Vox's right shoulder.

Another snarl leaves his throat--who dared hurt his muse? As he slipped his shoes off before entering Vox's nest, gently touching the TV demon's wounded shoulder to treat it.

The touch it seems is all it took to wake Vox, as the broken cyan tail gave a weak jerk, and his screen powered on. Red eyes blinked, panic, fear and hate gleamed in them before they realized who it was, and pure relief shone in them mix with a bit of warmth at seeing the stag.

"Vox, dear, who did this too you?" Alastor gently asks, as he begins to treat Vox's shoulder wound, summoning medical equipment as needed. His ears flatten and his rage grows as his muse attempts to answer and only gibberish and squeaks come out, and he gently presses a finger to Vox's lips. "Let's get you better first, then you can tell me." He murmurs softly, finishing fixing Vox's shoulder before checking the gut wound and giving a bellow of rage as he spots the angelic bullet. "WhO DaReS?!?!"his roars, antlers screeching against Vox's metal ceiling, before something sweet and warm reaches out to him in their shared frequency, gently curling around him, nuzzling him, soothing his rough edges and promising him a sweeter, bloodier revenge later--one that will taste even better.

Alaster gives a bleat as he relaxes into Vox's frequency touch, silently categorizing the pain still filling it as his muse sooths him. "Let's get this bullet out of you, and sew you up, hmmm my sweet Clio? But first, I'm going to give you a little shot--It's for pain." He murmurs as he began to work, taking a shot filled with a highly potent pain medication and diligently finding a vein in Vox's unhurt arm, stabbing it in and giving his muse the medicine before the other overlord could stop him. Grinning as Vox shot him an unhappy look, he gently rubbed his thumb on Vox's hand until the medicine took effect, and then he began to work.

After finishing with both Vox's stomach and tail, Alastor curled around his muse, one arm gently curled over Vox's chest, their frequency freely flowing as Alastor soothed Vox's dreams.

"They'll pay, dear one." He purred mouth pressed against Vox's monitor. "They'll regret this. Oh, this I promise."

thorn do you have an ao3 seriously guys. please. consider publishing your works im opening my inbox and staring flabbergasted at the absolute gems im finding in there

ough the hurt/comfort troupe ALWAYS hits me like. straight in the fucking heart especially. i think theyre really so sweet...... i think alastor would probably circle through calling vox all the muses names at least once honestly, im surprised you went with clio first since i thought calliope was the most well known but i cant say its not a welcome surprise to see some variation lol

im guessing here that alastor and vox havent yet made up? which actually makes it all the more heartwrenching, really, especially if vox isnt really in his right state of mind when al comes so when he wakes up like all sober and no longer delirious from blood loss, imagine him just flinching and bolting away from the other.... haaaaahh you guys are really killing me with these mini fic morsels.

#ran rambles #remind me later and i might make a drawing for this honestly #hazbin hotel #radiostatic #general asks

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divineluce · 4 years

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Beers Over Fears || Celeste & Luce

Location: The woods outside of White Crest

Timing: May 18th, 2020

Tagging: @celestelavie

Description: Celeste and Luce meet up for beers and a break from their responsibilities.

It’d been entirely too long since Celeste had been on a date and she was absolutely kicking herself in this very moment for leaving her best blouse behind when they ransacked the house. The shade of red would have been perfect for a hot date and Luce was undeniably a very hot date. She supposed she’d end up putting her leather jacket over whatever blouse she’d chosen anyway so she opted for a pale blue that accented her eyes nicely. Not that one would be able to tell as much under a night sky, but it did add a little confidence boost which never hurt. As she approached where she was meeting Luce, she felt herself begin to relax a bit. A night completely devoid of werewolf and hunter talk would be a welcome change. The sky was perfectly clear, too, which set a nice mood. She waved and smiled as she saw Luce approach. “Hey,” she greeted, looking the other woman over, “You look great… which I’m sure you knew already, but still.” Smooth.

Parking her car in the lot not far from where they planned on meeting up, Luce grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and hopped out. She slung her bag over her shoulder, the bottles of beer rattling against the small picnic blanket she’d shoved along with it. Walking out into the woods, Luce grinned as she saw Celeste. Her Al’s uniform had done her absolutely 0 favors, but this look? Luce could get behind it. Or rather, she smiled inwardly, under it. “What can I say, I’m a snack.” She joked, doing a spin with no small amount of bravado. Dark tank top to show off her arms, tight jeans to highlight her legs, and a red and black flannel tied around her waist to emphasize her curves? She knew she looked damn good and wasn’t afraid to show it. “You look gorgeous. Your top goes really well with your eyes.” She said, gaze lingering on the curves of the woman’s body for a moment before smiling. “Now, how about those beers?” She said, holding up her backpack.

There was something appealing about the way Luce carried herself. She certainly didn’t lack for confidence though it was entirely warranted. She was beautiful and talented, it’d be crazy for her to be anything but confident in herself. Celeste still found it to be a refreshing trait. “Indeed you are,” she said with a smirk, looking her over as she twirled. Her eyes lingered on her hips momentarily before meeting her eyes again. “Thanks. Couldn't let you be the only one here looking like a snack tonight," she laughed lightly, her cheeks slightly flushed from the compliment. With a nod, she answered, "A beer sounds perfect right about now, lead the way." She followed closely by Luce though, keeping an ear out for anything shifty. As much as she loved the woods, she had little trust in White Crest not trying to throw a creature shaped wrench in her evening plans. As they settled into a spot with the picnic blanket, she asked, “This is a beautiful spot, nice clear sky tonight, too. Do you come out here a lot?"

“You know it, babe.” Luce said with a wink and a smile at the other woman. Watching the way Celeste’s cheeks darkened, she let out a laugh. Not at her actions, just the words. “Well, you certainly delivered on that.” She said, giving an approving nod at the woman. As they walked through the woods, Luce led the way up the slight hill, where the forest receded and gave way to a nice view of White Crest. Spreading out the picnic blanket, Luce set the beer down on the edge of the blanket and cracked open one of the bottles. “Here you go.” She said, holding it out before opening one for herself. “It’s a great hidden gem, for sure. One of the perks of living here my whole life, I know all the best spots.” She said, taking a sip. “Not too often, I reserve spots like this for when I’ve got company.”

“Cheers to that,” Celeste said as she clinked her beer bottle to Luce’s. There was a smirk on her face before she took a sip of her beer. This really was the perfect setting to relax and actually enjoy Luce’s company in. She looked Luce over momentarily, clearly pleased with the sight in front of her. She was lively, that was for sure, and the way the moonlight hit her hair looked like something out of a painting. “Well, I’m glad I got to accompany you then. I’m getting all the best views in town.” She was feeling a bit more relaxed and scooted a bit closer to Luce on the blanket, taking a moment to look out at the town. As dead set as Ariana was on calling this place, she had to imagine growing up here to be pretty wild. It seemed doubtful that Luce could live her whole life, work with Ulfric, and be completely clueless to the town’s true nature. “So growing up in White Crest,” she mused, “What was that like? Were there always so many mimes?”

“Indeed you are,” Luce agreed, very much a fan of their little back and forth. Not that her ego particularly needed it, but it was still gratifying all the same. “Then again, I could say the same. I’ve got a pretty great view myself.” She said, leaning back on her elbows to take in the night sky and the lights of the town along with how Celeste was silhouetted in the foreground. It’d make a great painting, if she had her supplies with her. Taking a long sip from her beer, Luce thought about the question. What was it like, growing up in White Crest? How could she frame it in a way that didn’t reveal much about the fact she grew up in a family of magic, knowing that the world was never “normal?” She tapped her fingers on the bottle as she mulled it over before replying, “Your typical small town experience-- everyone knows everyone, high school drama boiling down to the cheerleaders and the football team with no one giving a fuck about anything else.” At the comment about mimes, Luce made a face, “Don’t even get me started on those stripey fucks. I hate those guys.”

This was decidedly one of the best nights Celeste had in awhile. Their easy conversation and the view of the sky over the town made it easy to forget the sense of impending doom that always seemed to try and fight its way to the surface these days. She looked to Luce and smiled, “Seems like a win-win.” Celeste watched her as she explained life growing up in White Crest. It all seemed so fairly simple for crazy the town had been since she’d arrived. Either she was none the wiser or was smart enough to not talk about vampires and werewolves on a first date. It was hard to say which was better, but it mattered little anyway. Right now, they could enjoy themselves without worrying about all of that. It almost reminded her of her own hometown, not that she’d been back in the last 15 years. She took a quick swig from the bottle and mused, “I grew up in a small town, too, it has its charms. I miss it sometimes.” Not that she could visit, but it was nice in theory. She laughed at her reaction to the mimes, giving her a nudge, “What? The stripes don’t do it for you?” Her voice took a more serious tone, “Probably for the better. I’m not a big fan either. I had to fight a mime that looked just like me a few weeks back. Bitch stabbed me. Definitely not a fan.”

Luce kept her eyes trained on Celeste’s face and, while her gaze occasionally dipped to her lips and lower, she did keep her focus on the words. She was a good listener, she had to be-- it was part of her job. “Oh? You from around the Northeast or somewhere else?” She asked, genuinely curious. “What do you miss most about where you grew up?” Luce asked, taking another swig of beer. Playing with fringe of the blanket, she wound a strand of material around her fingers before absently braiding three of them together. “Ugh, fucking mimes. If I never saw one again, it’d be too soon.” Luce groaned, casting the braided bit of blanket aside. Raising an eyebrow at the woman, she tilted her head. “You fought a mime? You got stabbed?” She asked, intrigued. Celeste didn’t look like the type to go around fighting things, or betting stabbed by them. “Are you okay, now?”

Celeste found she liked the way Luce looked at her and couldn’t take her own eyes off Luce. It was hard to ignore how soft her lips looked and she supposed there wasn’t a reason to. This was a date, after all. “Tennessee, actually. Small mountain town called Seven Devils.” She pondered the question a moment before answering, “That’s a tough one. It’s been so long since I’ve been back, but I do miss the little hole in the wall country kitchens. They always had the best food.” She leaned back a bit to level herself with Luce, resting on her own arms, beer still in her right hand. She tried to shrug it off. “I could go my whole life without seeing another mime and I’d be happy. And yeah, I’m okay now. I’m tougher than I look.” She figured she could gloss over the part where she killed her own mime clone and had to stitch herself up. She turned on her side, leaning on one arm to look at Luce as she mused, “So, I know you’re a gorgeous artist who works for Ulf, but what do you do when you’re not absolutely charming the ladies who come into the shop?:

“Tennessee. That’s pretty cool.” Luce nodded, a bit intrigued at the idea of having lived somewhere outside of White Crest. She’d been in Maine her whole life-- or at least, for as long as she could remember, Las Vegas hardly counted. Aside from a view travelling out for tattoo expos and visiting other shops, Luce had never really been out of the state for anything. “Makes sense. Gotta love some good old fashioned home cooking.” She replied. That said, she couldn’t relate with the Southern cooking that Celeste probably liked. Being raised in a Turkish home meant that comfort foods were gözleme and lamb mantı, but same difference. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. I’d hate to see a pretty face like yours in pain.” As Celeste lay back on the picnic blanket, staring up at her, Luce grinned in response. “Oh, you know, a bit of this, bit of that.” She shrugged, “But, I’m a little more interested in cashing in those good ideas you owe me.” Luce said, before leaning forward to close the distance between them, pressing her lips against the other woman’s.

Though Celeste wasn’t sure she’d call it home cooking, it was a small thing she’d miss. There were some friends too, but it’d been so long that she wasn’t even sure they’d even share much in common anymore. Food was a simple answer. “Exactly, haven’t found a place here that gets biscuits and gravy just right yet.” She smiled at the mention of having a pretty face. She knew as much, but it was still nice to hear every once and awhile. “Thanks, I like to think my tough fighting back face still has its charms at least.” She had a slight smirk on her face as she spoke. It was almost amusing how quickly Luce could divert the conversation away from herself. She wasn’t complaining. They didn’t need to get to know everything about each other. She was hardly looking for a relationship in the midst of the shit show that her life was currently. Still, Luce was a fascinating woman and she wouldn’t have hated learning more about her. “Very insightful,” Celeste had retorted with a laugh before welcoming the feeling of Luce’s lips on hers. It was easy to let the rest of the world slip away from her thoughts as she leaned in closer. How soft Luce's lips felt on her own and the tickle of the other woman's hair against her arms only made her want more. Instinct kicked in and a hand ran through Luce's hair which was also insanely silky. Was there anything about her that wasn't just inherently hot? As she pulled away for a breath, she whispered, "Have any other good ideas? I think I like owing you."

“Mhm, I’m full of insight.” Conversation wasn’t the reason why Luce was out here and a part of her was relieved that Celeste wasn’t pulling away and trying to get her to talk. She’d had to deal with way too many girls who didn’t seem to get that she wasn’t interested in talk-- or relationships-- than she’d wanted to. Not that there was anything wrong with relationships. She just didn’t want one right now, that was it. At least, that’s what she’d always told herself. All thoughts went out of her head as the woman ran her hand through her hair and a grin played against her lips. A fantasy played through her mind, one of Celeste yanking her head back, biting her neck before-- Mhm. When the other woman pulled away and mentioned good ideas, Luce couldn’t help but smirk at her. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of good ideas.” She said, leaning back in to kiss Celeste once more before moving her lips to brush against her ear, voice low and full of desire, “One I’ve got right now is you and me, heading back to my place. And then,” Resting her hand on the woman’s hip, she pulled back to gaze intently at Celeste. “We can see where the night takes us, hm?”

For a moment, Celeste found it easy to focus on only the present. There was something freeing about it. Being able to just focus on the way Luce’s hair felt in her hand or the feeling of her breath on her ear. It was intoxicating and more than anything, she wanted to forget about everything else, but at the mention of going to Luce’s home, reality came crashing back. This had been a bad idea. Why did she think she could have a normal night in the midst of all that was going on? She knew the bounty was picked up and she couldn’t risk someone finding her at Luce’s. Putting someone else in danger was the last thing she needed to do right now and she frowned slightly at Luce, not quite pulling away. “Trust me when I say I want to, but I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” There was no good way to explain why without sounding paranoid, crazy, or both so she looked down momentarily. “It’s definitely not you, I mean, look at you,” she gestured at Luce, who did indeed look like something out of a fantasy, “I��m sorry.” Weak finish, but she should have known better.

When Celeste pulled away, Luce didn’t protest. As much as she would have enjoyed a night of what would have been undoubtedly hot sex, she wasn’t that disappointed. She could just as easily call up one of the women on her phone for a booty call or hit up one of the bars in town to see if anyone was interested in going home with her. But, honestly, just hanging out with Celeste was nice in its own way. With a quiet laugh at the woman’s hurried reassurances that it wasn’t her, Luce waved a hand. “It’s whatever, don’t worry.” That said, a slight frown crossed her face. “It’s not because I live with my sisters, is it? Because… they have no room to complain.” She said with a slight scowl. The number of times she’d walked into the kitchen to see Dario standing there, waiting for Bea to make breakfast, was incredibly fucking annoying. “But yeah, don’t worry about it. Besides,” She said with a smirk, “We can still hang out here.”

Celeste had to admit Luce was being pretty cool about the whole thing. She had undeniably been giving her the green light before and put on the brakes out of seemingly nowhere. Somehow the prospect of her being mixed up in the current danger Celeste was facing didn't seem like a reality until she mentioned her home. It had been foolish, but Luce seemed like a good woman that she wanted her parents to stay far away from. Really, she wished they'd stay the hell away from White Crest altogether, but she'd have to deal with them eventually. Maybe Luce couldn't know about all of that, but she was being understanding enough with the very minimal reasoning provided. She relaxed a little bit, leaning back watching her as she asked if it was about living with her sisters. Her head shook slightly and her brow line scrunched up a bit as she began connecting the dots. "Sisters," she asked, "Wait... Are you Bea and Nell's sister?" She watched waiting for an answer before adding, "Thanks for... well, understanding."

At Celeste’s questioning tone, Luce felt the back of her neck heat bright red in a rare moment of embarrassment. She hadn’t even known that she was related to them. Well fuck. She hadn’t meant to out herself as living with them, or the fact that her sisters were Bea and Nell. But… Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cat was out of the bag now, and it was all her own doing. With a slightly pained sigh, Luce nodded. “Yeah. That’s them.” She said, doing her best to keep her tone neutral. But, it was impossible to keep the faint traces of bitterness entirely from her voice. She hated it when people referred to her as Bea’s younger sister, as Nell’s older sister. Or worse. Nisa’s middle daughter. Ugh. Lifting her beer to her lips, she took a drink, grateful for the distraction. “Of course. I’m not some pushy fratbro, if you say you’re not into it, you’re not into.” She nodded.

It seemed that her sisters may have been an off topic, but Celeste wasn’t quite sure why. She didn’t want to push it. There was the sinking feeling of realizing Luce probably already knew about her. Maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it begged the question of why was she here with her to begin with. Though that meant she must also have magic at her disposal and could probably fend for herself. She mulled it over and looked at Luce thoughtfully, “I’m not sure why I didn’t realize that. I’ve technically already been over then.” She realized how bad that sounded the moment she said it, “Wait, not like that. They were helping with some protective things.” That didn’t give too much away. If she knew, she knew. If she didn’t, she probably had a million questions. She could feel the sweat building up in her palms and her heart thumping heavier in her chest. With another sip of beer for good measure, she looked back to Luce, “Thank god, I hate frat boys.”

“You were at Bea’s house?” Luce echoed, confusion mingling with a slight tinge of ‘oh fuck’ in her voice. She’d checked their group chat before coming out here and it wasn’t as though Celeste was a super common name. Plus, after the debacle where she and Bea thought they’d slept with the same person last year, they’d made a point of adding last names to the list. And, after the Jennifer/Jenn/Jenny debacle, they made it law that they had to add last names. But, when Celeste quickly clarified, the tension eased. “Huh. Okay.” Hang on-- they’d been working on protective things? Celeste knew Ulf, had been looking for him when she’d stopped by with lunch. Was she one of the people he was helping? Rather than dwell on that revelation, Luce began to draw shapes on the folds of the picnic blanket. “For sure, for sure. Frat boys are fucking annoying. Take it from someone who works with them on a nearly weekly basis.” She said with a grin.

While she didn’t push it, Celeste had the feeling Luce would eventually find out. Her sisters and her boss both knew about her situation. It felt inevitable Luce would eventually find out, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain when it was the last thing she wanted to think about it. More than anything, she wanted the whole situation to just disappear, but there was only one way that would happen. She tried to push the thoughts away. They brought a certain queasiness to her stomach that needed to subside. She took another gulp of beer, hoping it’d help her relax again. She focused on Luce, hands making shapes in the blanket still looking like a dream under the sparkle of the night sky. She masked her sigh with a small laugh, “I’m sure you’ve heard some especially heinous things from them. At least you get to poke them with a needle over and over when they’re being gross. I get the joy of bringing them extra ranch.” She raised her bottle and toasted, “Here’s to hoping for minimal frat boys in our future.”

#p: bof #p: celeste bennett #wickedswriting

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purplenerd777 · 6 years

Text

Meet Ugly

You know, instead of editing my BB or working on my BTHB prompts, I wrote this because @hazel-athena put ideas into my head. Enjoy:

“Can I borrow a knife?” Josh asks, which he thinks is more than enough for him to be given what he wants.

“No.” Billy replies calmly, asshole that he is, as he twirls one of his many in his hand.

“Why the fuck not? You can spare one!” Josh exclaims as he throws his helmet down before glaring out his window at the offending monstrosity.

“I’m not going to let you dull a knife for this.” Billy says.

“You’re an asshole.” Josh spits as he continues to glare at the car parked in his spot.

“Sure. But I’m not the one who wants to key a car with his roommates knives.” Billy stands and leaves the room.

“Fine! I’ll bet Red will help me.” Josh calls as the door slams shut to Billy’s room. He turns around and deflates when he sees that his roommate took whatever knives were in the vicinity. One may think that having a roommate with an impressive knife collection would be cause for concern, but really most of them are just decoration that Goodnight gets Billy when he’s on buisness trips.

“Help with what?” Red asks as he enters the kitchen. Either summoned by his name or the commotion Josh doesn’t really care.

“I’m gonna teach the son of a bitch a lesson.” Josh reigns himself in from snarling at his second roommate, because he can recognise that Red has done nothing wrong, yet.

“How do you know it’s a guy?” Red asks, and the fake innovent look on his face is enough to make Josh no longer consider being nice to him.

“Who cares what they are! I’m keying their car that’ll teach them.” Josh fumes.

“This is going to end well.” Red mutters, but Josh ignores the kid as he grabs his Harley’s keys and heads out of the apartment once more.

It’s nearing midnight anyway so it’s not like anyone will see him.

That is until he nearly runs into Alejandro Vasquez, sexiest neighbour that Josh has ever had the misfortune to have.

“Evening, guero.” Vasquez says sunnily, his grin lighting up his face and it makes Josh’s knees go weak.

He shakes it off and sticks his keys into his back pocket. “Going somewhere?” Josh asks and he really doesn’t mean for there to be a leer in his voice, but him and Vasquez have come to an agreement over the past six months.

“Hm?” Vasquez looks like he’s just shaken himself out of a stupor but Josh is too busy thinking about what he’s going to key to notice.

“You going out?” Josh repeats.

“No, no. I just heard yelling and was worried Rocks finally stabbed you.” He leans up easily against the doorframe to his apartment causing his form fitting henley to ride up so that Josh can appreciate the V where his neighbour’s abs meet the beginning of his pelvis.

Josh shakes his head and forces himself to meet Vasquez’s eyes. Only causing him to short circuit a bit when he can see sparks of laughter. “No, not yet.” He coughs to clear his throat. “Won’t be able to get rid of me that easily.”

Vasquez hums before giving a slight wave. “Well goodnight guero.”

Vasquez shuts the door to his apartment with the two on opposite sides before Josh’s brain is able to communicate to his mouth so he only manages to say “Goodnight.” to the door.

“You’re so fucked.” Red’s voice says from behind him.

“Will you shut up.” Josh hisses on the off chance that Vasquez is only just on the other side of the door.

“Nah.” The kid replies as he shuts the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” Josh asks as he begins to head down the stairs to do what he originally set out to do.

“making sure you don’t go full Carrie Underwood on it.” Red says smugly and as Josh turns a scandalous look at him, he looms a couple steps behind him, producing his phone with the group chat and a warning from Goodnight.

“This isn’t like that.” Josh rumbles lowly in his chest as he continues to storm down the stairs. He’ll deal with his so called friends later.

“Sam said to tell you that he won’t bail you out if you get caught.” Red informs him as they walk out of the complex. Josh tries, and fails to ignore him.

“Yeah well I won’t get caught.” Josh states assuredly and wishes he was a less superstitious man.

“Sure.” Red shrugs and glances at the offending car. “You said it was hideous.” The other man frowns slightly in pain at what’s about to happen probably.

“Look, it’s a great car but if the owner liked it so much they wouldn’t fuck with me.” Josh grumbles as he digs Maria’s keys out of his back pocket and brandishing them the way Billy would a knife. “And ask Goodnight for a pompous way of saying fuck off, would you.” Josh orders as he kneels next to the car.

“I can’t watch this.” Red frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.

Josh sighs. “Then leave. I’m not letting the make and model of the car dissuade me, the jackass will only need a paint job when I’m done.”

Red’s frown deepens and he eventually sighs and walks away.

“Just you and me.” Josh says as he puts metal key to beautiful paint.

He’s just about to finish when he hears a litany of angry Spanish that makes him spin and almost causes him to drop his keys.

His heart leaps to his throat when he watches Vasquez’s cigar drop to the ground in shock as its owner storms over to Josh and tears him away from the car.

“What are you doing, pendejo?” Vasquez exclaims loudly, and it wasn’t until the loss of guero did Josh realise that it was his.

“What does it look like?” Josh asks hotly. because yeah, fuck maybe he screwed up his chances with Vasquez, eternally hot neighbour, but once Josh digs a grave he’ll lie in it and bury himself too.

“You’re keying up my Maria!” Vasquez cries and he sounds so anguished.

“Wait, Maria?” Josh asks, because what are the odds that they both named their prized cars after the same name.

“You heard me.” vasquez growls lowly and he then ignores Josh in favour of kneeling next to the Pontiac and closely examining the damage.

Josh sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I’ll pay for the paint job. Or better yet, come by the garage tomorrow and I’ll do it for free.” His shoulders slump in defeat before backing away from a wounded man and his battered car, “Or I can give you a referral if you don’t want to see me.”

He makes his hasty retreat and he pretends he doesn’t hear Vasquez call after him.

Although as he slams the door to his apartment shut behind him, he figures that maybe he should have stuck around in case Vasquez needed to hit him. Cause Josh could recognise that he deserved it.

“Well?” Billy asks, and from his spot on the couch Josh can see that he’s Face-timing Goodnight from wherever he is.

“The damn thing was Vasquez’s.” Josh explains miserably.

Predictably Billy and Red are unsympathetic and Goodnight goes on a thirty minute diatribe about revenge and taking the law into your own hands, but Josh zones out five minutes in.

“Yeah well I offered to pay for it or do it for free, if he ever wants to see me again.” Josh sighs as he drags a hand through his ginger curls. “Hey Goodnight you take my room and I’ll move in with Sam and Horne.” Josh pleads, and predictably Goodnight goes on another rant.

Finally, Josh is able to slip into his room and he attempts to get some sleep before he has to start his new life with the idea of his neighbour, who he probably did have a chance with before this shitshow, hates his guts. And rightly so.

——————————————————————————————————————

The next morning he’s in the garage being scolded by both Sam and Horne when a familiar purr makes him lift his head.

“What the hell did you do, Son?” Sam asks casting him an incredulous look as a very familiar Pontiac pulls into the garage.

“Um-“ Josh begins eloquently, but Sam abandons him before he can formulate an actual reply.

“Morning, guero.” Vasquez calls awful cheerily for someone who needs a serious paint job done on their car. What’s more the man has two large cups of coffee in his hands, and a bag full of pastries that are freshly baked, so much so that Josh can smell it over the oil and gas in the garage.

“Did you forget what I said last night?” Josh asks, and then immediately wants to bury himself in a hole as Horne sighs audibly from his station.

“No.” Vasquez shoots him a smile that Josh never thought he would be graced with again.

And again, rightly so Josh thinks.

“Do you want Jack to do the work? I understand if you don’t want me-“ He’s cut off by Sam throwing a pen at him, which he barely manages to doge.

“Oh, you’re doing this for free, querido.” Vasquez informs him as he hands him a cup of coffee. And Josh practically melts at taste of his regular.

“I’m sensing a but.” Josh says, and he feels himself easily slip back into his flirtatious mannerisms.

He wants to knock himself out of it, but if anything Vasquez seems appreciative of it.

“Yes.” He replies as he takes a sip of his own drink. Josh crowds into his space, and it’s the reminder of why the other man is here that causes him to back off. But he’s stopped by a soft look from Vasquez, Alejandro. “You, in addition to fixing Maria for free, are going to go on a date with me.”

Josh is too busy being surprised at the fact that they’ve named their car the same thing to notice Alejandro’s additional request.

“Say something.” Jack says as he shoves a clipboard into Josh’s chest almost causing him to spill his coffee down his shirt.

“Huh? Wait.” Josh goes bright red and he notices a slight flush to Alejandro’s ears as well, but the man’s natural tan hides it much better than Josh’s Irish complexion.

“I’ll pick you up and afterwards I won’t park in your spot.” Alejandro promises.

Josh breaks into a grin. “It’s a date.”

——————————————————————————————————————

Two years down the road he’s ecstatic if a bit annoyed at the idea of having to fix it, when Ale brings Maria into be serviced for a paint job with the words: Marry Me? carved into her side with a tool other than a key.

But Josh is too busy kissing his fiancée to get mad at Billy’s double standard.

#mag7 #meet ugly prompt #youve been parking in my spot and ikeyed your car and you caught me #varaday #faraquez #faraday/vasquez #hazel made me do it #not really i wanted to and was just looking for an excuse lol

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ramblinganthropologist · 6 years

Text

MER Week Days 3 and 6

Prompts: Midnight Rendezvous and Break my Heart

Eh heh heh... I’ve been wanting to do this one for a while. >:3c

Summary: What’s left behind when Commander Shepard dies? Not a lot for Bo to hold onto. It’s hardest at night, and it’s not easier with what remains. But sometimes it helps. Setting: Between 1 and 2.

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-June 23, 2183-

Bo wasn't sure what she hated more: the sound of military music or her formal uniform.

Both were grating on her nerves as she sat there in a green field covered in headstones. Most of them were small. After all, in that day and age they rarely got a whole body back. At best, ashes were buried there under the names and dates. Sometimes... well, the less said about the larger plots the better.

For her, there was nothing left.

She clenched her fist tight as she stared down at the small plot of ground that had been marked out for the Citadel's savior. In plain dates, “Commander Alistair Michael Shepard, 2156-2183” was spelled out in heavy black letters. Nothing but the basic facts about the man who was anything but, even if she had said otherwise.

“Fuck.”

The ceremony had been over for a while now. People had tried to give her sympathy but it had bounced off her like bullets off her armor. Bo had just stood there, staring at the ground. Maybe she was numb, maybe she was pissed. It wasn't every day she got to watch her best friend memorialized.

The priest was an asshole; Al wasn't Catholic anyway.

“Excuse me, Commander Shepard?”

For a brief second, Bo didn't move. After all, someone that polite would have been for Alistair. It took her a second to remember that he wasn't at her fucking side where he was supposed to be, fielding comments for her. Her buffer was gone now, and she had to face it alone. So, she turned to face them, not really looking.

They had a box in their hands and an Alliance uniform on their back. She didn't really notice the rank or the face. Details like that didn't really matter lately – someone would probably say that was depression. Honestly, she was just tired. Some asshole with a degree would probably say that was depression too.

“Yeah?”

They didn't shrink back from the bite to her voice. She had to give them that. “We recovered this from the crash. As next of kin, it's yours.”

They handed the box over without another word. “All we found was some armor and his pistol. I'm sorry we couldn't give you more.”

And then they left Bo alone with the little box that held the one possession Alistair loved almost as much as his hamster. She would have laughed, but it just wouldn't come out. Instead, she just stared at it, frowning. Then she gave the box a shake – too much rattled around for it to be in one piece. Given the Normandy had blown up, that was to be expected.

Disappointing... he had always liked that damn little gun. Even when there were better models, ones that maybe accounted for his shitty aiming, it was at his side like a little red nightmare. Dead eye, dumb gun. That had been her brother.

And now it was all she had left.

“Fuck.”

That was all Bo could get out as she turned to walk away from the empty grave, broken gun in hand. What else could she say? It wouldn't bring Alistair back if she suddenly developed his ability to speak to people, nor would it make her feel any better. All she could do was just keep walking and hope she figured out the rest later.

Stupid Alistair... he had to get himself blown up for his own damn pilot.

-December 11, 2183-

Explosions were what shot Bo out of bed that morning.

None of them were real – she would have been moving faster if they had been. But she heard them all the same and saw the Normandy exploding before her very eyes as she sat there on the edge of her bed, sweat pouring down her face and her chest heaving from the effort. It took every effort to remember she wasn't in space, and the only thing that was threatening to explode was her heart. Even after a few seconds of staring around the dark room, it didn't calm down.

So it was going to be one of those nights, huh?

“What fucking time is it?”

Somewhere off to the side, her computer glowed. “The current time is 02:30.”

The pleasant voice that came from the speakers had a thick Irish accent that hadn't been reproduced well. Where vowels and consonants came together, the awkward electronics showed themselves. It wasn't a person.

It wasn't Alistair.

Bo took a deep breath as she looked over at the computer again. Even in the darkness, she could see the little hologram standing there, projected by her screen. The voice had come from a VI she had picked up her last time at the Citadel. The man selling it had cowered and given her a deeply discounted rate. He should have – the damn thing was broken half the time.

She sat down at her desk, not really looking at the little projection of her brother in his fatigues. He hated wearing those – something about them never fitting right in the legs and causing him to trip if he didn't roll them up right. It had been his curse of being so damn short.

“Anything good?”

The Shepard VI was as cheery as always. “You have 74 unread messages and one missed vid call from Admiral Anderson.”

Bo rolled her eyes as she briefly scrolled down. Nothing she gave a fuck about. “Delete them and remind me to call Anderson later.”

“Can do.” Then the VI switched to its deletion message. “I get rid of you on the way to real problems.”

She had to laugh, but it was like there was broken glass in her throat. It was her words in Alistair's dumb accent like some fucked up fusion nightmare. The real one would have never said anything like that. Hell, he probably would've offered to fix his own damn VI if he were around to see just how buggy it was.

Something about that was so wrong it had to make her laugh, but damn if it didn't hurt when she did it.

“Those volus patching you need to get off their asses and fix the personality. Did they get us mixed up again?”

Pleasant Alistair VI was back. “Sending a note to the development team. Thanks for your feedback, you make the galaxy safer.”

Nerdy; that was closer. Bo shook her head as she looked at her empty inbox and the pending call. Part of her – she swore it had an accent – was telling her to pick up her omni-tool and give Anderson a call. Then it was telling her to put on pants and go do something outside. All were sensible, yet horrible ideas and she didn't want to do any of them.

“Fuck I don't even know.”

Her leave was almost over, and then it was back to who even fucking knew. The Hong Kong wasn't around to take her back – even if they had loved her. Like the Normandy it was smashed to a thousand pieces and just as useful. Maybe the Council would want her to do something. Those fuckers owed her one after all.

A couple ones, but she would settle for one. Just... something. Anything.

Something wet trickled down her face – maybe the ceiling had finally sprung a leak due to her dumb ass neighbors upstairs. Bo didn't investigate it. She just kept staring at the damn VI, half hoping that it would do something other than read her messages for her. But it just stood there, waiting for her to give it a task to complete.

And the ones she needed it couldn't do. She had learned the hard way that a VI couldn't hug for shit.

“Maybe I should go back to bed.”

Her bones creaked as she started back over towards her unmade bed. Sometime during the struggle, her pillow had wound up on the floor. Grumbling, she bent to pick it up. That was when she felt it in her lower back – a dull pain throbbed to life.

“Fuck!”

She slapped her hand over it just as a similar burning ache stabbed its way through her lower leg. Bo fell back on the bed, half expecting gunfire. When she pulled her hand away there was nothing there, though. She wasn't bleeding – shit just fucking hurt.

“Are you ok, Commander Shepard? Do you require medical attention?”

Now that was fucking Al. Maybe the volus were finally on to something.

Bo blinked back surprise as she looked down to the source of pain on her leg. It wasn't anywhere she had been injured before as far as she could remember. Instead, it was centralized around a band of pinks and reds inked into her skin. Even in the dark, her fingers found her way to the tattoo and rubbed against it.

“Commander Shepard?”

Another throb, this time from her lower back and right where another tattoo was. Bo's eyes went higher than the VI, to a shelf she hadn't touched since she had installed it. On it rested a dusty box, marked down “personal effects” in ink that hadn't started to fade.

“Can't be.” but it was hurting right where her N7 tattoo was inked into her skin, as bad as it had when she had first gotten it with Alistair on the Citadel. He had had a matching one inked in the same spot on his own skin, though he had complained about it the entire time it was healing. For a medic, it was almost funny.

It had always hurt when either of them were about to do something stupid.

A strange smile crossed her face as she managed to get back into bed. “See if there are any available shuttles out of here in the morning.”

“Can do, Commander. Remember to get at least 8 hours of sleep a night for optimum efficiency.”

Hopefully, someone else was hurting as much as she was, because Bo wasn't going to be getting any sleep that night. But as a plan formed in her head, she couldn't say she minded much at all.

-April 11, 2184-

“You have two missed vid calls from ID “Bonecrusher” and “Demonslinger” and three unread messages from the Alliance.”

“Tell them they can suck it I'm busy.”

The bruises from last night's fight were still healing and it hurt to move. Bo really should have been resting or at the very least swimming in medigel. Instead, she was at her desk pouring over a bunch of dumb, stupid pieces.

In front of her, oh so careful dissembled, was a pistol. Half the pieces were new, bought or fought for during her time on Omega. The rest, the more beat up looking ones, were the originals she was trying to build around.

It didn't help Alistair never fucking cleaned his guns right. Fuckin' southpaws.

“I have informed them you are busy.” VI Alistair popped up in front of her. “Do you require assistance?”

Bo scowled as she held a piece up to the light – this was a new one, to help fit in the clips the pistol was being modified to use. “Pull up the Stinger maintenance manual again. I think I got this damn thing on backwards.”

The diagrams popped up large enough for her to read without her glasses on – yep, the damn thing was backwards AND upside down on top of it. She scowled and turned it right side up, then clicked it back into place. That sound was becoming oddly therapeutic in a way only knocking Krogan skulls in had been as of late.

They had always said she had laser focus back in school. Once again, she was proving them right.

Alistair VI glowed for a second as she continued to work. “Update: the part you ordered has come in. You can pick it up in the morning.”

“Great, make sure that asshole isn't trying to short change me again.” Bo grabbed her glasses from her forehead and pushed them down onto her face in order to inspect the next part. “Otherwise they're going to be my 13th win in the ring next week.”

The little VI of her brother flashed for a second – there were those damn bugs again. “Confirmed. Your message has been sent. Do you need anything else?”

“I need the full diagram for the Stinger firing system again. Damn thing looks like it needs another part.”

Maybe at this point it would've been easier to just get another a fucking gun. It wasn't like the Stinger pistol was particularly hard to find. Maybe a little rare on Omega, but that was more personal preference than scarcity. The mercs there liked flashier models that had a shotgun's kick to them. She could appreciate a good shotgun as much as the next person, but it wasn't her taste in consideration.

Besides, it was a pain in the ass to modify any fucking gun to be left handed. Why couldn't her dumb brother learn to shoot right handed like a normal person?

Alistair VI worked quietly, but he talked while he did it. “Searching. The Stinger pistol is a favorite of mine.”

“I know it is, that's why I'm fixing it.” She held a piece up to the light and then slid it in. “You're going to need a working gun when I find you.”

Maybe it was wishful thinking or maladaptive coping or just plain denial, but tattoos didn't lie. Hers especially didn't. Somewhere, she knew deep down in her gut that the dumb ass who owned the gun she was working on was going to want it back. And hell, she was more than ready to give it to him and then some.

The VI flashed its error message. “Request misunderstood. Could you please repeat?”

“Ah, forget it.” Bo reached for another tiny tool in order to work on the grip. “Play my workout music, 60% volume.”

Loud, high energy music began to pour into her apartment as Bo lost herself in the work. If she was lucky, she'd finish her modification on the Stinger's grip before she had to square off in the ring again. If not... well, as long as they didn't break her arm she'd be good to go.

And hopefully, it would be good to go with her modifications when she saw Alistair again. With any luck, that asshole would appreciate having a gun that shot a little steadier the next time she saw him. That would be after she kicked his ass for dying, of course.

After all, that was just rude. Who went off as a big, stupid hero without saying when they would be back?

#merweek2018 #Bo Peep Shepard #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Commander Shepard

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robbinsarizonas · 7 years

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Battlefield (Part 7)

Battlefield part 7!!! :D We’ve got a lot more story to tell, so here’s another part of it :) All other parts are linked below :) @ferryboatsscrubcaps

The first step in recovering from a traumatic experience is stabilization. To feel safe in your own skin, in your home, in the arms of someone you love. It can be hard after a trauma for any kind of contact, physical or mental or emotional, to feel comfortable. Some are scared and jumpy, some hyperventilate at the touch of a fingertip, and some want nothing more than to be left alone in complete solidarity. However, contact is good for the soul. It’s important to have the help of someone you love to recover, it speeds up the process and allows for your emotional wounds to heal alongside your physical ones.

Amelia stared at the egg shell colored ceiling of her bedroom. She could only stare for a few seconds, though, because she was so restless from being on bed rest. She had become so antsy that she just couldn’t be still. For the past six weeks, she had done nothing but lay in this bed, and she was sick of it. She was tired of watching Tiny House Hunters and Say Yes to the Dress for hours and hours while laying in the same spot sipping on the same old water. She had to get up.

But he would kill her if she tried. Owen decided to take a leave of absence to take care of Amelia until she got better. He had been nothing short of a drill sergeant when it came to her staying in bed and doing everything she was supposed to. It took a while for her to realize exactly what had happened to her. Yeah she dealt with trauma everyday and she had watched so many of her loved ones die, but something like this has never happened to her. She was not used to feeling physical pain coursing through every part of her body and not knowing what to do.

At first, he wasn’t able to touch her. He tried, but her whole body flinched every time. This was common in people who experience accidents, especially as severe as hers. She was in a plane crash. That wasn’t a small little accident. She expressed to him how elated she was he was alive and how much she wanted to just lay in his arms again, but her mind just wouldn’t let her. Her mind was conflicting her heart and it was tough. But Owen, being the loving man he is, stuck by her and tended to her every need. But today, after six weeks, he figured it would be fine if he stepped out for just an hour or so to run a few errands.

Amelia’s head injury still wasn’t fully recovered. Upon arriving at Grey Sloan, she had a severe brain bleed and a fractured skull. Edwards went in and relieved it, but Amelia was still experiencing symptoms from the severe head injury. She had migraines quite often, her neck and head were constantly sore, and she had extreme sensitivity to light. She had a huge cut on her leg that was still stitched up and healing. A large piece of debris had cut her leg open and shards spread throughout the tissue inside her thigh. Kepner had to perform an emergency exploratory surgery to extract all of the debris. The cut was quite severe and she lost quite a bit of skin and tissue. She had cuts and bruises of various sizes all over her body, as well as second degree burns on her abdomen and lower back. Owen dresses the burns daily but she’s become basically immune to the pain.

On top of all of that, she’s pregnant. And Owen doesn’t even know. She’ll have to tell him soon, granted she was only two weeks when she found out and now she’s about 8 or 9 weeks so he can’t tell yet. But she wants him to know, she wants to share this little piece of happiness with him in the midst of such a difficult time in both of their lives. But for now, she was done with this bed rest shit. It had been 6 weeks. That’s plenty of time to heal, even though the doctors said she should take at least 8 weeks. She felt fine, so that was enough for her.

Amelia rolled over onto her right side, avoiding putting pressure on her sore right thigh. She grabbed the rail on the side of her bed that Owen had put up and slid it down. She stepped onto the cool hardwood floor and found her footing. She hoisted herself up off the bed, but she must have done it a little too fast. Her purple socks were super slick against the hardwood floors and her feet flew out from under her, causing her to land flat onto her stomach, hitting her forehead from the impact. She cried out in pain and instantly regretted her decision to get up. Amelia gasped for air, as being on her stomach unable to really lift her head up made it hard for to get proper air flowing through her lungs. She wiggled herself closer and close to her nightstand and snaked her hand up, barely reaching her phone. She quickly hit the number 2, which was Owen’s speed dial number and pressed call. He better pick up, she thought.

“Hey Amelia, what’s up?” He answered the phone happily.

Her voice was raspy and sounded almost like she was choking. The pain was too much, she felt a stabbing in her stomach and a pounding in her head. Her whole body ached. She barely got out the words. “Owen, I, I… fell. I can’t get up. It hurts. Please…….hurry.”

She heard the loud bang, probably of his car door shutting. “I’m on my way.” And she pressed the ‘end’ button.

Amelia tried to roll over, but she couldn’t support her own weight on her weak arms. She moaned from the pain, trying to move wasn’t helping but she had to figure out a way to relieve some of the pain. She didn’t want to cry but damn, it hurt. She picked her head up and tried to breathe, but her airway felt obstructed. She couldn’t get enough air, but she was getting enough to stay conscious. She heard the front door slam and breathed a sigh of relief. He rushed in, just as she cried out, “Owen!!!! Oh my god.” She screamed loudly, flinching her eyes because of the intense pain she felt.

“Amelia!!!! Amelia, what happened?” Owen asked, running in the room and crouching beside her.

“I just… I just wanted-to-to get up.” She choked out.

“It’s okay. Just hang in there. I’m gonna get you to the hospital right now. Oh my gosh, Amelia.” Owen rambled as he scooped her up in his arms.

“Amelia! Amelia!” Owen yelled. But it echoed through her ears as she lost consciousness.

“AMELIA!”

The ambulance doors swung open, the paramedics pushed the gurney Amelia lay on towards the open ER doors of Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital where April Kepner stood gloved up and ready, Owen had called her on the journey over, panicked, unable to really speak.

“I don't know what happened. I don't know what happened… I wasn't there… I left, I thought… I had an errand, I thought…. It’s been 6 weeks… She tried to get up…. She fell… I don't know what happened…” Owen said without taking a breath.

“Owen, Owen…” April said, carefully taking one of her gloves off and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. I need you to breathe. She needs you to breathe.” She said, standing in front of him now and looking him right in the eyes.

Owen took a deep breath, but it wasn't like it helped. He hadn't been there. He didn't know what happened. He didn't know if she had hit her head. He didn't know if she’d had any pain. He didn't know, he had left the house to run an errand. He should have been there.

“We’re gonna help her. We’re gonna figure out what’s wrong and we’re gonna help her.” April comforted, putting her hand on his shoulder again and giving it a friendly pat before heading into the ER to deal with the situation.

“Okay I’m gonna need all hands on deck!” She shouted as soon as she stepped in through the doors.

Owen didn't move. He didn't move for a good couple of minutes. He didn't feel like he could. It was like his brain no longer knew how to make his legs move. It just wasn't there. So he stood, and he looked down at the ground, and he reminded himself to keep breathing. She was going to be okay, the doctors had her, they had her, they knew what they were doing.

“Owen?” A voice came, causing Owen to look up almost from the shock of hearing something other than his own breathing and the distant sound of cars on a road nearby.

“What happened, is she okay?” Owen asked as soon as realising it was April standing in front of him, only wearing her scrubs, her hair as red as ever.

“Owen, I have something to tell you.” She said, but not in an at all grave or sad way, despite Owen’s brain twisting it that way.

“No… No no no no…” Owen said, imagining the worst, jumping to conclusions. “No no no no no-” He continued, until April shouting his name cut him off.

“She’s alive. She needs surgery, they’re taking her in right now, OR 5. A piece of debris made it’s way to her stomach. We have to control the bleeding.” This time Owen cut her off.

“So you’re taking her in, and you’re gonna control it.” Owen said, confident in April’s surgical ability as well as the other doctors at this hospital, his colleagues. He couldn't pick anyone better to take care of the woman he loved.

“Owen you know we can't make promises like that.” April said, reminding him that nothing was for sure, not ever. “But there’s something else…” She said, watching Owen’s face as it turned from relieved, to shocked and even scared. “She’s pregnant. 9 weeks, it’s early, but there’s definitely a baby in there.” April said, trying not to show too much happiness given the situation.

“She’s…” Owen said, unable to properly understand what April had actually said. “She’s…” He said again, happiness fighting with the fear and pain he felt. “She’s pregnant?” He got out all the words this time.

“She’s pregnant.” April nodded.

“She’s pregnant…” Owen said, not able to believe this was actually real and not some kind of elaborate prank.

Life is full of surprises. Good or bad, they’re inevitable. You can choose to avoid them, to take them and accept them and move on. Or you can choose to embrace the unknown and let life surprise you. Even in the midst of darkness, you can still see light at the end of the tunnel if you allow yourself to. You know, it’s important to be surprised every now and then and to enjoy it. It may just change your life.

#omelia #amen #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #fanfic #*

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