#frankenstein's cocktail bar
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🧪🎃 ~ Frankenstein's Lab ~ 🎃🧪 (jenz_losangeles)
(Credit if you use please) (ko-fi)
#LA#los angeles#frankenstein's cocktail bar#frankenstein#mad scientist#mad science#mad scientist aesthetic#evil science#evil scientist#villaincore#mad scientist stim#sciencecore#greencore#green stim#halloween#halloween stim#halloween colors#mixing#drink mixing#halloween cocktails#halloween food#halloweencore#Sciencecore#chemistry stim#chemistry#chemistrycore#chemistry aesthtic#science stim#science aesthetic#Liquid stim
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Rip This Place Apart (Driller Killer x Reader)
Summary: He’s gonna rock your world, baby!
Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request. I wrote this while I was dealing with a bout of insomnia, ironically. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 1.5k
Warnings: Descriptions of blood and gore. Sexually explicit content. Do not interact if you’re under 18.
A man kept appearing in your dreams, and he wouldn’t go away. Leather-clad and oozing obnoxious amounts of sex appeal, he was the opposite of a problem, until your dreams started feeling a little too real. Maybe it was your subconscious’ way of telling you to get laid, but every time you had some kind of interest in a man, he clouded your mind until you either made a fool of yourself or retreated.
That night was going to be different, though. You and your friend Marcie had spotted a flyer for a funky looking local band called Shriek and the Spyders, a group of self-professed psychobilly hooligans who were known for their wild shows and over-the-top onstage antics. A bartender who’d overheard you and Marcie discussing the show the day before advised, “Wear something you won’t mind getting stained.” Your interest piqued, and you figured a skimpy black top and similarly black skirt would do.
The Crypt was a hole-in-the-wall joint that certainly lived up to its name. You could hardly see inside, save for a few red overhead lights, because of course they were red. The light fog that swathed the room was either from an effects machine or so many people chain smoking. When you approached the bar, you scanned the cocktail menu, all named after and inspired by classic monsters. You ordered a Frankenstein-themed drink, wondering if it were possible for a place to be too campy.
“C’mon, let’s try to get closer to the stage before they go on,” Marcie said once you both got your drinks.
About fifteen minutes later, the band strutted onstage, an abundance of leather and pompadours. Almost like—no, you weren’t supposed to be thinking about him. Not bothering with introductions, Shriek and the Spyders went right into an upbeat song that made the raucous crowd go wild. They didn’t let up, sweat dripping down Shriek’s face as he ran back and forth across the stage, microphone in hand.
In the middle of their third song, a spray of fake blood rained over the crowd, leading to cheers and screams nearly drowning out the music. Some of the effects looked a little too realistic for your comfort. The bass player’s “eye” popped out at one point, and the lead guitarist’s face seemed to literally melt during a solo a few songs later.
You and Marcie had been dancing along to the whole set, your drinks long since discarded, half spilled on each other as other concert-goers bumped into you. It was the most fun you’d had in a long time, but you couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that settled in your gut no matter how much you tried to focus on the show.
In the middle of another song, Shriek broke into a howl as a giant drill emerged through his chest, spraying the crowd with blood again. Except, this time you weren’t so sure it was fake. No one else seemed to care. The carnage only electrified the people around you as they roared and cheered when Shriek collapsed near the microphone stand, his guts hanging off the stage. The floor beneath you shook at the crowd’s riotous stomping and jumping at the scene they’d just witnessed. When you looked up at the stage, you were horrified to see him. Gore hung from the end of his drill-tipped guitar, splattering the crowd as he revved it, keeping eye contact with you and grinning slyly at your disbelief.
He leaned into the mic, the corners of his lips curling into a cat-like grin as he announced with a swoon-worthy croon, “This is dedicated to the one I love.”
Then he pointed right at you.
The energy in the room shifted to a tangible malignancy, or maybe it was your own panic as you tried to push and shove your way out of the crowd. Instead, you only found yourself being forced closer to the stage, his romance-laced innuendos and skillful guitar strumming overwhelmed your senses and made your skin crawl. It felt like the whole crowd was in on his scheme to get you.
With each song you were shoved closer, and closer, until for the first time since he manifested in your dreams, you were able to reach out and touch him.
Was he even real?
You were dizzy by the time the show ended, hardly able to protest when you were manhandled and told something about wanting to be seen backstage.
“I want details!” Marcie shouted, oblivious to your plight as the rent-a-cop shuffled you away from her.
Backstage was a stretch. More like a narrow hallway with a utility closet and a small, graffiti-covered room that had been requisitioned by the bands. The door to the makeshift dressing room slammed behind you when you stumbled inside. He was waiting there for you, sitting on a grungy looking red velvet couch, his leather-clad legs spread wide open. His jacket was discarded in the corner of the room, revealing the sheen of sweat and blood that coated his body.
Your eyes drifted to his drill, large and intimidating, with a red tip that looked angry against its large shaft. You could’ve sworn you saw it twitch a bit, and recoiled at the thought of it penetrating you.
With a click of his tongue, he drew your attention back to him. Raising his hand, he beckoned you over to him with a curl of his index and middle fingers. You felt a jolt rush through your core at the motion. Almost involuntarily, you approached until the points of your kitten heels touched the tips of his steel-toed boots.
“How’d you like the show, baby?” he asked.
“It was…a lot.”
“It was all for you.”
“Yeah…” you trailed off, blatantly ogling the bulge straining against his tight pants.
He grinned, thrusting up toward your face. “Could use a little help, sugar,” he crooned, eyes dangerous as he palmed his crotch. “Don’t be cruel to a heart that’s true.”
You let out a shaky breath in response, and proceeded to sit on his lap. He threw his head back, groaning at the sensation of your weight on him. Tangling your fingers in his slicked black hair, you pressed yourself closer to him, kissing his neck as you rolled your hips against his. You nipped at his throat when you felt his cock twitch against your pussy.
“Goddamn, baby,” he moaned. “Gimme more of that.”
Rolling your hips again, you let out a soft whimper at the friction from his pants on your clit. It was as if a switch flipped inside you, desperation flooding your senses as you chased your pleasure, grinding against him, almost embarrassed at the sounds your wet pussy was making as it rubbed against his hard cock.
Your breathing shallowed, muscles ached as you rutted against him, feeling yourself getting closer to orgasm. For a moment, it felt like he was only there for you to use, to get off with like some living, leather-wrapped sex toy. Maybe he was. You weren’t thinking clearly enough to question it.
“Wanna go all the way with you, baby,” he forced out. “Wanna make you mine.”
You moaned at that. “Yours.”
You swiftly shifted so you could pull off your panties, tossing them aside on the couch. He undid his pants, his leaking cock springing free from its leather confines. Your pussy involuntarily clenched at the size of him, and your eyes frantically met his smug face.
He reached between you, his fingers stroking your sensitive pussy. “Cat got your tongue?”
You kissed him again, more teeth and tongue than before as you lifted your hips, slowly lowering yourself onto his cock and whimpering into his mouth at how it stretched you mercilessly. You caught his bottom lip in your teeth, biting down a little too hard and drawing blood, but he took it in stride, licking it from his lips.
He sung your praises, his hands firmly on your hips as he guided you, your pussy taking all of him. His five o’clock shadow scratched at your sensitive skin as he pressed kisses to your neck and shoulders.
“Fuck!” you cried out as you bounced on his dick, your cervix pounded by his length. Your vision blurred with tears, thighs burning as you kept riding him. So close. “I—I’m gonna—“
“That’s it, sugar. Come for me.”
Your orgasm rolled through you, rocking your hips against his as you held onto his shoulders to steady yourself. Your pussy pulsed around his cock, and you could feel his hot cum fill you as your body milked his seed from him. He was vocal when he came, your name practically echoing throughout the room in a perverse melody.
Riding out your orgasm, you shuddered against him, feeling his soft, spent cock still buried inside you.
“That was…are you real?” you asked breathlessly.
“In dreams you’re mine, all the time,” he answered cryptically, kissing you with a disarming tenderness.
#driller killer x reader#slasher x reader#slumber party massacre 2#slumber party massacre#spm2#slasher fandom#slasher community
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Random fallout 4 companion headcanons :)
Deacon would have the time of his life with those really goofy royalty free songs that YouTubers use.
I feel like he would also use SpongeBob soundtracks like this one. It would piss Danse off so much.
LIKE TOU CANR TELL ME THAT WHEN DANSE IS COMPLAINING ABOUT SOMETHING DEACON WOULDNT PLAY THIS 💀💀
Moving on!!! If you went in public with MacCready to a bar or whatever he would definitely be the type to stop all conversation to listen to other people’s drama. MAJOR EAVEDROPPER
Mac’s fave prewar plant is moss
He’s a Pearl Jam fan I SAID WHAT I SAID
I feel like overtime as he grows closer to sole he would feel bad about the caps they first paid him, even when he gave them back after his personal quest. Then he would feel bad about all the (life-saving) favors they did. So he’d try to repay that back. I feel like his love language (either pre-romance or unromanced) would be gift giving. Not monetary wise but just random trinkets he found, snacks, ammo, etc.
I think that max affinity MacCready would move in with sole, regardless if he’s romanced or not because he has literally nowhere else except for that back room in goodneighbor. They would be bunk mates and he’d call top bunk almost immediately.
Danse has very dry humor, the reason why so many people within the brotherhood think he’s so humorless is because the joke flies right over their head.
Danse would also move in after BB because again, has nowhere to go and sole wants to keep an eye on him. Not that he’d mind. Would get annoyed with MacCready eating his food though. (Let’s pretend soles house in sanctuary has like 3 bedrooms instead of two)
I hate how people choose to ignore how soft Cait gets when sole gets max affinity. She’s so sweet in her own way.
Even unromanced, Cait’s max affinity with f!sole feels borderline homosexual (I’m a fan)
Thinking about how common messed up teeth would be because finding tooth brushes and tooth paste would be too much of a hassle, not to mention there’s barely anyone who can do wisdom teeth removal, not like most people could afford it anyway
Danse is touchstarved (who isn’t in the commonwealth) but him to the extreme. Hates touching other people or being touched. Most he’ll do is shoulder pats for when someone is going though any emotional moment. That’s IT. He’d only really warm up to affection through sole. He wouldn’t initiate and he’d be tense the first few times when sole does. He has to push through the discomfort because as uncomfortable as he is, he really does enjoy affection from sole.
His reluctance to initiate touch would get worse after BB because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. He definitely needs it though. Hug him plz. He is a cuddlebug to his core. Sole has to initiate most the time but they can tell he likes it because he leans into it. (And he doesn’t tell them to stop) But he does get a lot more jealous when sole touches someone else in front of him.
Lowkey feel like LOWKEY THOUGH that Danse would go through jealousy and possessiveness issues after BB. It would be weird because he feels like sole would do better without him and deserves someone better BUT he also doesn’t want to lose them because they’re all he has left. Clingy in a subtle way and gets super anxious when they leave on missions without him.
When did this mostly become about danse 💀
Hancock is really well read. Has read lots of classic literature like Frankenstein and Dracula. Loves Edgar Allen Poe. I think his favorite story would be Tom Sawyer. Would also LOVE Shawshank redemption.
I think if sole got close to Hancock, he would allow them and even enjoy them calling him Johnny.
Cait mentions Freud in the game, which is really funny but unexpected. She enjoys reading about science more then she lets on. Of course she’s no curie when it comes to interest in science, but I think she knows a fair bit about psychology and biology.
She also is one of those people who claim they don’t really care, but enjoys taking in the small things, like the sound of tree leaves in the wind as she sits outside, a good warm meal, a comfy bed, etc. she learned an appreciation to keep herself sane when she was younger.
I HATEEE how some fallout 4 writer’s completely destroy Cait’s character. Writing her as a drinker (after her quest) and a person without feelings. Like she’s sober of ALL things. That’s literally what the addiction-ending machine does. If you wrote her as an alcoholic BEFORE her personal quest then that rant wasn’t directed at you 😇 She also does have feelings and can be quiet sympathetic at times. She’s selfish and that can come across as cold but she’s not emotionless like come on y’all.
Anyways rant over 😇😇😇
MacCready is such a goofball I love him
Goofy ass smile
#Spotify#fallout 4#fallout 4 companions#paladin danse#danse fallout 4#maccready#robert maccready#cait fallout 4#fallout hancock#fallout 4 headcanons
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What to expect at Eastercon:
It’s gonna be a long post, because we have a lot going on!
Every year, Eastercon has a variety of content; panels, workshops, interviews, lectures, awards ceremonies, book launches... so here’s a sample of what to expect in 2023:
Interested in Publishing? We’re reaching out to writers, publishers, and writing associations to find debut authors who’d like to read their new or upcoming work. Every day, a trio of authors will get a prime-time schedule slot to read from their work, and we’ll be offering a workshop on reading skills to engage the audience. We’re also teaming up with the British Science Fiction Association and the British Fantasy Society to talk about the benefits of authors’ guilds and similar organisations, how to choose between big name, small press and self publishing, and more!
Here for the social aspect? We’ll have a games room with multiple tables and additional room available as needed, a real ale bar, a balcony cocktail bar, restaurant, and a sober lounge all based in the hotel venue - as well as online social spaces via discord and zoom for anyone attending remotely. Between the art show viewing, book launch parties, and evening entertainment, there’ll be no shortage of lively ways to socialise.
Got access needs like kids, disability, or low income? We have creche provision for the younger set, we intend to have at least one British Sign Language translator, our whole venue is flat with doorways broad enough for motorised wheelchairs and mobility scooters, and we have both Low Income pricing and a Bursary Fund. We’re also donating free memberships to Con Or Bust!
Just want to sit back and watch? We have panels and talks on all things science fictional from Frankenstein to Nope, including neurodiverse characters in fiction, worldbuilding, sapient spaceships, everyone’s favourite invertebrates, and oh so much more. And don’t forget our opening & closing ceremony and the BSFA awards, too!
... and if you’d like to get involved, you can join the con here and tick the programme box.
#eastercon 2023#this whole con is by the members for the members so tell us what you want to see!#science fiction#uk convention
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Food of “Root Beer Floats and Green Tea” part 5 chapters 78- 110
Welcome to TKK3 arc
Fresh honey from Dutch’s
Pizza at Mr. Miyagi’s Little Trees
Early morning runs with wheat-grass protein smoothies with Dutch and Jessica
Dutch’s tropical smoothie with spinach, kale, and protein powder.
Daniel’s chocolate and peanut butter banana smoothie
Johnny’s acai berry drink
Mr. Miyagi’s congratulations on the opening of your shop: champagne-style sake from the Lawrence's.
Johnny’s breakfast at a old-fashioned diner and with his mom and she had gotten them both big breakfast platters with pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, and toast.
Babysitter Johnny’s mac and cheese with cut up hot dogs
After taekwondo tournament hole in the wall celebratory pizza tradition.
Daniel’s brunch with Laura: her bloody mary, Daniel’s eggs
Green tea and Mrs. LaRusso’s pie made by Daniel
Halloween at the Brown’s House:
Bobby’s monster mash pancakes,
skeleton cookies
Ohio lemon shaker pie
Bobby’s lemon pie
Daniel’s Mom’s blueberry pie
ghost cookie
Frankenstein's monster bar
grave parfaits
Candy lollipops shaped like different monsters and severed limbs
gingerbread homes scale models of paris and story books
“There were so many cupcakes under the domes on the cake plates. Ghost toppings, some that looked like they were bleeding, and one with little candy witch's feet sticking out of it. “
Laura’s housewarming Halloween party: She hired a bartender to work on bubbling punch and alcoholic cocktails out in the garden and got cupcakes and sweets from the Browns and a catering company had made themed finger food. snacks, candied apples, and finger food, mocktails: Johnny had a dark purple almost black drink (made with juice and not vodka)
Mrs. Lawrence’s pumpkin muffins
Trick or treats with the kids, no king size candy bars (though Mrs. Lawrence had those), Apples and mini bags of baby carrots. and raisins. The Browns give out: popcorn balls and king-sized candy bars.
Scampagnata
Eggplant Parmesan Melanzane alla parmigiana sandwiches
croquettes
pasta salad, and there are fruit and cherry tomatoes.
wine
torta rustica
pajeon
Fancy pancakes from the cafe for Jessica’s goodbye breakfast
Beach ice cream for broken hearted Californian boys
Birthday dinner part 1: A cold soup was brought out on a bowl of dry ice so the whole thing smoked, crackled, and popped. Tiny salad all wrapped up in a slice of cucumber like it was a bite-size salad, sorbet palate cleanser, eclairs, chocolate soufflé
Hotel breakfast: pancakes, eggs, sausage or bacon, and juice.
Ma’s birthday surprise mac and cheese
Mr. Miyagi’s chocolate cake
Jessica’s Buckeyes
Cobra make up birthday soccer lunch: Jimmy’s grilled hotdogs, Cookie dough birthday cake
After Daniel’s win celebration from the Browns:
Lemon Blueberry cake with cream cheese frosting recipe
some tea cookie recipes
Alcoholic rum and root beer floats
Cobra’s break in breakfasts: Dutch’s omelets with lots of vegetables
Dutch’s favorite coffee: add one pack of hot chocolate and 3 cups of Irish creamer.
Bobby: Cinnamon Rolls
Jimmy’s corned beef and hash
Tommy’s waffles
Dutch’s other eggs: frittatas and quiches
Bobby was making pancakes filled with cinnamon and chocolate chips.
Chozen’s breakfast: eggs Mr. Miyagi had made sometimes, rice, soup, grilled fish, a cucumber salad, and pickles and Nattō
Dutch portrait sitting breakfast spread of: pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, hashbrowns and muffins
Mr. Miyagi’s Pork and taro leaves, cook for hours so becomes soft, smoked from when he lived in Hawaii
Lucille’s pre-flight to Newark breakfast: scrambled eggs and bacon and blueberry muffins
Johnny’s coffee trip in Newark: ordered Daniel a cup of coffee with a dash of cream and one for himself that was a mocha
Dinner at Nonnio and Nonnia’s: chicken and pesto penne, a pot roast with artichokes and sun-dried tomatoes, a salad with bread, tomato, cucumber, basil and onion, and focaccia.
Sandwiches with baby LaRusso’s and Johnny’s first attempt at mac and cheese.
Ali’s brunch at the country club: egg with lobster and caviar. There were also raspberry pancakes (this recipe is for lemon raspberry pancakes) with gold leaf.
The girls and Chozen go to In-N-Out: animal style burgers, fries and drinks
S’mores made by Chozen on the leftover Cobra Kai pamphlets
Lemonade from Laura for the guys + Chozen working on her garden and making a pond and Conchas
Pizza and beer with Chozen and the ex cobras
Mint chocolate chip ice cream on the beach
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
#root beer floats and green tea#food of root beer floats and green tea#long post#photos from unsplash a free use website
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Scariest encounters this Halloween :
3. Vague sense of being spied on after watching a horror movie alone in the dark
2. Anatomy midterm.
1. Frankenstein decoration on the back of the bathroom door at the gay bar that I didn’t see until I went to wash my hands (tipsy)(two cocktails in) and it jumpscsred me so bad I cried
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Chapter 1 of Sub Rosa
On a lackluster day in the lingering warmth of late August, a woman waltzed into a bar somewhere in a nondescript area of Texas. Her circling hips caused an audience, but the speed in which she power walked was all too fast for the drunken eyes of the bar patrons to keep and so, they married their cocktails and made children with their spewed curse words, all too numerous just as she was all too quick. The keen dog of the bartender flapped his tail and barked until the lady paid it one quick glance, then for it to immediately submit to her fierce power. This was a woman with a motive.
She sat down on the edge of a creaking, old chair for if she were to sit in the middle, she noticed it would cave as it had no support as the entirety of the bar was decrepit, old, stewing with people who only wanted peace and beer, and mostly men. Men with gravely mustaches and bellies like pregnant women; men who liked to laugh because it was all they had.
Sitting with grace, ease, and a vacant expression, the young woman lifted her tote up and onto the black top of the painted wood table. The tote was red, frilling at the seams, all while keeping its utterly intricate poise amidst its solid pattern, and it was greatly noticeable in the mise-en-scéne grays, whites, and blacks that oriented such a dark, concrete
dive bar. followed closely behind the woman, scents of woodsy, warm cherries and almonds parted the sea of asphalt and mildew that usually crowded the metal chair on which she sat.
Her hands flitted with her dress, a sweater material that was breathable enough for the humid air, and she eyed the man, who seemed to be lost in his book, next to her. A book on hallucinogenic plants and ancient uses. Thick strings of black hair stuck to the sweat on his face, and he wore a white turtleneck with overalls drenched in blue, orange, and yellow paint, but he smelled pleasantly like fresh daisies and lemons. His thick fingers, middle and thumb, intimately massaged page number sixty-four and sixty-five, but he soon dropped the lady on her back to take a decent swig of his beer.
“Would you like to play a game?” She addressed the man beside her, never touching his gaze, and she knew he was startled by the way his hands danced ferociously to the center of his chest at the moment she spoke and when the woman turned to face him, he was at a pause in his breath with her inching toward him. Each slide of the chair, guiding the legs with her feet and using her hips for power, gliding it so smoothly with nearly no sound. It fell with a slight moan that fell from her lips unexpectedly, a moan too audible, and she almost felt herself blush.
With that dreary sensual sigh, he felt a rush to his pelvis and so instead of giving him the satisfaction of her pretty, golden eyes, she examined his beard, wooly, black, the sound it made after he lifted his thick knuckles to scratch it, how he was not necessarily unattractive but was not societally attractive in the slightest. He was more hair than skin and although she made the first move, she shied quickly with his confidence in dominance which forced her to meet his stare.
“Let’s play,” he said, voice deep and defined, yet very kind.
Her pouty lips relaxed as her eyebrows raised in response to the noise of the loudly scrapping chair that he moved a mile closer and only two centimeters of space to keep their knees from knocking together. Subsequently, he opened her bag to empty its contents, revealing two ball point pens, a matchbox, a half empty pack of gum, her black wallet dancing with blue jays, a copy of Frankenstein, and a deck of cards. First, he grabbed the book.
“Cute,” he kindly remarked. Then, he looked in her wallet so that he could scan her ID to reveal the name of the woman with whom he sat. “Nadia.”
“Who are you?”
Nadia had forgotten her voice was more singsong and gentle than she had remembered, and she noticeably shocked herself when she spoke, but the scavenging man only found her voice darling. He returned her possessions to the bag and grabbed the deck.
“You have to play me for my name.”
He bent forward and beamed at her now fluxed face, but she was not one to back away from a competitor and so she stood tall at his proposition. “What are we playing?”
With her hands tucked inside her sleeves, Nadia was the one to pause this time. She allowed the lingering sound of broken glass to plunge her ears and desire her concentration as she ransacked her disoriented thoughts to find just what it was she had in her plan for the past week.
“Poker?” He guessed for her in an attempt to penetrate her mind. She looked amused and yet also bored.
“No,” she replied, gathering her thoughts, recognizing her game, attempting to understand the man before her now, and calming her mind. “Blackjack.”
“But we have no dealer.”
“I am the house.”
Releasing his posture and uncrossing his foot from his knee, the hairy man sat fully flummoxed with his back plastered to the tilted chair, balancing it toward the wall behind him. He thought for a moment, reflecting on the power of that statement, the young woman’s bashful, moody gaze, and the stakes, as low as they were, being only against him.
“And now if I win… what’s my prize?”
Nadia circled her head around the room, taking in the sights of this dingy bar with little-to-no cell phone service and barely any air conditioning to keep the humidity from drifting its dirty fingers through her hair.
“Whatever it is you desire.”
The chair nearly lifted itself, flying to his left, closer to the edge of the table.
“You tell me.”
She began to shuffle the cards, fanning them out, and brushing her thumbs against either corner until she peacefully formed a tidy pile on the desk in front of her. First, she picked a card for the man, ace of spades. Nadia looked at him carefully, dragged her chair backward and away so that he could not peek on her own pull. She placed a card face down in front of herself, then pulled nine of diamonds and the jack of spades for the man and herself respectively. An air of nothingness lingered although it was clear the route to be taken. This man had been dealt a good hand, twenty points. It would be foolish to test the deck.
His girthy wrist waved across his cards to indicate his hold, and Nadia knocked once atop of the deck. Then, as though she had known her hand all along though she had never checked her facedown card, she flipped to reveal her jack while she whispered into his mouth, “want to go again?”
A scoff exhumed the room, and the man rolled his eyes, tapping twice against the table.
She flipped the deck.
His first card was two of clubs, next seven of clubs. Hers face down followed by the queen of hearts.
“Hit.” She placed another 7 at his place.
“Hit.” Testing his luck. Nadia dramatically revealed a two against his pile.
“Lucky man.”
“And… queen plus five,” he said into his hand clamped against his fuzzy mouth as she laid a third card for herself, “plus king. Bust.”
The man smiled, further pulled her chair to his as the sore loser blankly gazed across the room in defeat, and gathered her cards in a pile. He tried to pull her eyes toward him by never looking away from hers and besides, he did not want to look away.
“Mars.”
“Mars?”
“That’s my name.”
She spread her fingertips against the table, shyly gazed into her lap, and felt his mind trying to read hers. Mars was intense, charming, smart, but all the same too prone to infatuation to see the instigation in front of him.
“Mars?” She called to him, batting her lashes, speaking slowly, “How do you know my brother Jordy? Jordy Faukitz.”
An uneasy smile captured his face which wrapped around the words he silently mouthed and swallowed, Jordy Fucking Faukitz.
“What? Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
The man rocked his chair back and toward, like he was nodding with his whole body, and he broke his eye contact to find clarity in the situation. His breathing became deeper, more serious.
“Well, Ms. Nadia, not to speak ill of the dead, your blood, but the world is a better place without him. You know what he does for a living, don’t you? Not exactly a precious soul gone too soon.”
“Yes, I know enough of his business, I know my brother, but you never answered my question.”
“Well, our businesses don’t mix. Not anymore at least… Only for a while, back when I was in college. I was selling a little marijuana on the side. Just to pay for my groceries, just to friends. Harmless, really, and I’ve stopped now. I have my job at Decker’s. He was my supplier until one day he stopped showing up but I’d, uh, begun to grow my own anyway.”
“But then why did he call you right before he died?”
Mars crossed his arms, fell into the lips of the woman who sat so alarmingly still across from him. Her curled lashes were drenched in black mascara and with lips so sultry, painted a subtle garnet red like little brandied kisses. Compared to her brother, Nadia was quite the opposite, so much that Mars could not comprehend that the two were related. Only that silent nature was telling. Chilling in how that simple personality trait, one so broad, was so similar to one another’s. Each sibling took their quiet behavior and introduced a background dynamic to the energy. Hers being unbreakably calm while his was wild and untamed.
“Fuck, I couldn’t tell you. I never answered.”
Suddenly, somewhere in the distance an ecstatic cheer commenced, and the sound of fireworks could be heard like thunder ticking against a cloudy sky. A group of ten then twenty then thirty yellow jerseys flooded the bar. Their buzzing jeers and clapped hands blinded Nadia from her focus, and the man named Mars led her outside.
“I say this respectably. You seem like a smart woman with a plan, I’m sure a good plan, but it’s best you don’t mess with this. Whoever killed your brother must somehow be twice as batshit crazy as him. Best if all of us stay away.”
And ever so calmly, quietly, blasé, “I know all these things. It’s good he’s dead, but I need the story.”
“Risk your life just to know his?”
“To me, Mars, this is worth it.”
“Well, I’m not going to help you.”
“You’ve been no help so far, why would I ask you for anything more?”
Nadia gripped her little red tote bag and motioned to leave, her hips pointed toward a side street catty-corner the bar. She was dressed all too well for a dive with her long black dress trimmed with gold lace and golden buttons down the neckline to right above her waist, her rings plated with black diamonds, knee high boots, real leather the same tone as her dress, and that red tote to match her cherry red nails. He found himself frozen as she walked. His mind blank with awe over her graceful waltz.
“Fine!” Mars yelled only thirty seconds after she had begun to walk to her car. Watching the woman leave was enough to pull his heartstrings. Something in him cared about her, not to mention his curiosity begged to know why the terrifying Jordy would call him right before his death.
“You’ve convinced me.” He ran to catch up with her and spoke between breaths, “you’re right, you need someone, you need some burly dude to play bodyguard while you do the detective work. I’m here, and I’m willing.”
Nadia stopped abruptly, faced the man, and said, “No… what I need is the address and number of your frequent buyer, Whitt Lakeson.”
Full version available with the following links:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sub-rosa-james-duda/1143167687?ean=2940185757499
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Goths, the darkly inclined, Halloween lovers, or those who just appreciate a good horror themed bar will do well to find their way to Cocktails & Screams in downtown Orlando on Pine Street. It's literally always Halloween at this place!
I have to admit, I've been to more than my fair share of lounges, bars, dives, tents, and environmentally hazardous stills in the woods, but no place I've ever seen or heard of can hold a flickering candle to Cocktails & Screams. 10/10, 5 stars, three thumbs up; you need to add this dark haven to your bucket (of blood) list.
Plenty of bar space, floor space, and seating encourage you to make yourself right at home. I made sure to get there right as they opened so I could get plenty of pics and video of the place before it filled up, and I only just managed before hoards of creatures from elsewhere arrived via party bus.
Upon arrival, take a few minutes to soak it all in. There's a reliquary bursting at the seams with every horror nick-knack you've ever seen. The bar is wrapped in hundreds of human skulls, the stage boasts a pipe organ, baroque chairs, sofas, and lounges stretch across the darkened room.
The wall behind the bar is Dr. Victor Frankenstein's laboratory literally brought to life - although his famous creation isn't quite finished yet.
One wall boasts a stunningly beautiful mural of a haunted manor house perched upon a hill with a cemetery below while spectral horrors are projected upon it. I stood and watched it in awe for more than a few minutes, I freely admit.
Take a moment to recline in Elvira, Mistress of the Dark's, sofa - which is quite comfortable, actually. Sadly, the Queen of Halloween herself has never visited, but if she ever did, she'd feel right at home.
My personal favorite section is an area you can reserve for a group: The Addams Family section. This. Is. Amazing. Morticia's chair, the polar bear, the moose with a crooked antler, damask pattered wallpaper - it's just as if a part of the Addams mansion was teleported into this corner.
Settle in with your friends (or fiends) and be sure to try out their huge selection of horror themed cocktails. The one I had was so good and it even bubbled, bubbled, toiled & troubled as any proper witch's brew should.
Even the bathrooms are themed with giant skulls as sinks and outstanding mugshot style artwork on the doors. Truly, this place is a wonder to behold. I highly, highly recommend it.
Don't forget to ask about the not-so-secret potion bar hidden in the back themed from "The Craft." Nancy might get upset if you don't pay it a visit.
And you know how Nancy gets when she's upset...
CreaturesFromElsewhere 5/23/2021
#cocktails and screams#darkly inclined#florida gothic#creaturesfromelsewhere#orlando#themed bar#halloween#horror#the addams family#elvira mistress of the dark#gothic#baroque style#goth#the craft#frankenstein#horror icons#Youtube
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DR. FRANKENSTEIN🧐 Ossessione per la scenza e l'onnipotenza di poter creare la vita.🤓 Dalla potenza prorompente del fulmine che fa ripartire la complessa macchina fatta di carne nervi,muscoli e ossa diversi tra loro. 🦶💪👂👃🦵🧠🦷🦴👁 E cosi che si crea un mostro! Liquore al Kiwi Vodka Succo Mela e Kiwi Velluto nero al Limoncello #altopianodiasiago #bar #baralchemis #cocktails #cocktail #mixologist #mixology #baralchemistasiago #frankenstein #halloween #liquorivolare (presso Alchemist) https://www.instagram.com/p/CG5Ns-Oj4WW/?igshid=7a63ro9vi5l2
#altopianodiasiago#bar#baralchemis#cocktails#cocktail#mixologist#mixology#baralchemistasiago#frankenstein#halloween#liquorivolare
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Now available at www.colonelcoconut.com: The Swankensteins Go Tiki art print
This stylish undead couple is hitting the town and ready to get dead drunk with some delicious tiki drinks. Original art by Colonel Coconut illustrator Brodie H. Brockie. 11 x 17” (tabloid size) on 20/50# Bond paper.$19. Free shipping in the US.
#tiki#illustration#frankenstein#bride of frankenstein#swankenstein#my art#tiki bar#cocktails#mid century#mod#halloween#horror#monsters#art print#prints
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armin arlert, mikasa ackerman, and eren jaeger polyamorous headcanons (modern au)
armin arlert x gn!reader, mikasa ackerman x gn!reader, eren jaeger x gn!reader, mikasa x armin x eren x gn!reader
warnings: uhh fluff, this is very long, reader has a gf b4 getting w ema,
this is like my first post since feb that isnt a request 😍😍😍 how did i pull this out of my ass
- obv eren, mikasa, and armin have been besties since childhood so its no wonder they all got together first 🤩🙏
- and theyre all hot so why wouldnt they wanna date each other
- i think armin and eren wouldve gotten together first, and then invited mikasa into their relationship
- the three of them have been officially going steady for like over a year now, and its going really well
- they didnt really expect you to drop into their lives tho
- youre an old friend of historia's and you two reconnected after you moved to the city, securing yourself a decent paying job working as a writer for the city paper
- you usually get the boring stuff, never able to get a good story to write about, focusing your time on heartwarming stories in the community or the sports column
- its boring but it pays the bills
- you were thankful when historia called you during your lunch and asked if you wanted to get drinks at a bar with her and a couple of other friends
- of course you said yes
- so historia and her girlfriend ymir picked you up after work, having dinner with them after a long week was the best, but you were a bit nervous to meet all of their friends
- thats how you met eren, mikasa and armin
- at first you were sure that mikasa and eren were dating, seeing as mikasa had her head on the taller man's shoulder, while his arm was wrapped around her
- but when armin leaned down to give mikasa a kiss before heading off to the bar you werent so sure
- ymir pulled you away to get more drinks and explained to you what the situation was, while commenting on the way you gawked at the three of them before
- you were embarassed to say the least but they didnt bring it up that night so you hoped the throuple didnt notice (they did)
- you really hit it off with all of them though, especially sasha and jean, and were constantly talked about among the friend group
- because of your demanding job dealing with writers block and deadlines you couldnt really meet up with all of them often, usually just having sleepovers at ymir and historia's apartment, the three of you drinking while you wrote on your laptop
- after a couple months of casual hangouts with historia and ymir and their friends, you kinda became one of them too which was nice
- you were added to the groupchat, you all followed each other on social media, and a certain brunet had taken a liking to you
- eren didnt know why exactly he was so attracted to you but he was, maybe it was your hair, or how pretty your skin looked even when oily or with breakouts, maybe it was your smile or your body or your sense of humor or you kindness or maybe it was all of it
- eren jaeger would always stay faithful to his boyfriend and girlfriend, but maybe they could add another person into the mix, more to love right ?
- he had only known you for a couple of months though, he didnt want to jump the gun and bring this up with his partners so soon, especially if they didnt feel the same way he did
- and it would be a bummer if you turned out to be a bad person or smth
- so summer rolls around with lots of memories being made with your new friends, as well as friends from work, and you get a girlfriend ??
- shes not really your girlfriend you two have only been out on a couple of dates and she kisses you a lot but, you havent talked about labels
- one night you, along with your friends are back at the same bar where you first met them
"so, tell us about the girl youre seeing." ymir says, smirking over her beer.
eren's ears perked up at the mention of you seeing someone. "girl ?"
historia nodded. "mhm ! y/n's been talking to someone recently, they've gone on dates and kissed and stuff."
"and stuff, jesus tori you make it sound like we've had sex." you sighed.
the blonde just laughed, leaning her body onto her freckled companion.
"well ? what about her ?" eren asks. armin slapped him on the arm, already having suspicions about eren's interest in you.
your shoulders sagged. "well, she's great and everything, truly..."
"but ? is there a but in this ?" connie asked. sasha started laughing at connie's use of the word but, while jean slapped the girl on the arm because of her reaction.
you shrugged, swirling what was left of your fruity cocktail in your glass. "well, i'm not sure. she's very lively, and sweet. but i don't know, i just don't see myself being able to be in a steady relationship with her."
"so you're gonna end it ?" eren asked. you thought he seemed a bit too eager about your failure in the love department.
"why do you care so much ? you like the thought of me being lonely ?" you shot back, before downing the rest of your drink.
"no i just-"
"i think what eren means is," mikasa intervened, her smooth voice calming you as she looked at you with a smile on her face. "is that there's no point in staying with her if you can't see yourself with her. don't lead her on."
you nodded. "you're exactly right my friend. which is the plan for tonight because i," you quickly checked the time on your phone. 8:17. "have a date with miss molly at nine, so i will be taking my leave."
the group engaged in a chorus of boos for leaving so early, while you chuckled and took the lighthearted insults thrown at you by sasha and connie with ease. grabbing all of your things you put down two twenties onto the table. "i'll see you guys later, have a goodnight." as you walked off you heard jean yell "have a good time you heartbreaker !" making you shake your head
- the date with molly went less then well. she yelled, and cried, and even tried hitting you at one point. your walk back from the park was spent blocking her on every form of social media you followed her on, and when you got back to your apartment you spent the night in a hot bath before retiring to bed
- meanwhile, armin and mikasa were trying to pry the truth out of eren, who was constantly denying his attraction to you
- finally mikasa took one for the team "eren, you aren't alone with the way you feel, i do too." this made eren more willing to open up to his partners
- armin doesnt say anything about you, only saying how youre kind. he doesnt feel the way that his girlfriend and boyfriend do, but he knows that may change
- soon enough, more time flies and christmas rolls around, with you all deciding to have a secret santa get together.
- historia invites everyone to her home on christmas eve, with ymir begrudgingly allowing it
- bertholdt and annie come too, reiner not being able to make it due to going home for christmas, while everyone else decided to stay in the city
- you picked out your secret santas at the beginning of november so you would all have enough time to find something for each other, you hoped whoever picked your name gave you something good
- after hours of games and karaoke and drinking you all decided it was time to open the presents
- ymir got socks from bertholdt, connie got an ugly beanie from ymir, historia got new pens from mikasa, mikasa got knitting needles from annie, annie got a dumbell from eren, jean got a not so appropriate t shirt from connie, jean gave sasha more comic books, armin gave new stationary paper to bertholdt, sasha gifted you that new biography you've been wanting to read and you gave armin your old copy of frankenstein by mary shelley
- he was surprised but very thankful, "how did you know i needed a new copy ?" "well i remember you said eren spilt water on your old one, and the pages just stuck together so i thought you might as well have mine"
- it warmed armin's heart that you remembered something so insignificant, and opened him up to the thought of being with you
- the rest of the night was spent with hugs and thankfulness, cheering when the clock struck 12 and it became christmas day
- after getting things cleaned up everyone decided it was time to leave, with armin, eren and mikasa offering to give you a ride home
- a ride where armin straight up kissed you in the backseat
- you stopped him of course, thinking that it was weird he would cheat on his partners right in front of them, while they were shocked all on their own for different reasons, armin who didnt have feelings for you KISSED you
- and surprisingly armin took the lead in explaining how he felt, why he kissed you, an apology for doing so, and an offer to start dating all three of them
- your heart was pounding in your ears and your entire face felt hot, it was probably the alcohol, or the way his lips felt so soft when they touched yours, so you said yes.
- its not smooth sailing from there
- youre kind of awkward
- this is your first relationship where you really feel like you could love these guys (you already do) but its also your first relationship with multiple people
- the trio start inviting you over more often, soon for sleepovers, and start inviting themselves over at your own place, mainly eren
- he just comes at random times, sometimes when youre not even there and waits for you, or stays and cleans up a bit before leaving
- armin and you share a deep love of literature, and you often find yourselves in hot debates about whatever youve read (mikasa and eren have to pry you two away before things get physical)
- mikasa likes to cook with you, she shares recipes that her mom taught her, and her and armin love to cook dinner together whereas eren is the breakfast maker of the household
- the first time you slept in the same bed as them you were so nervous your whole body thumped to the tune of your heartbeat, you were convinced armin could even hear it as he was laying beside you, but eren wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his large chest before whispering "youre as stiff as a board, relax honey"
- eren snores, mikasa drools, armin has those dreams where you fall and then violently wake up before you hit the ground
- slowly but surely you stop thinking about your relationship as the trio and you, but as all of you together, and that really helps you come out of your shell a bit
- you may still be in the honeymoon phase, and there may be bumps along the way, but you like being with armin, eren, and mikasa. they make you so happy, it feels like the happiest youve been in a long time
- you like watching eren and armin dance in the living room while you and mikasa cuddle on the couch, before the boys pull you two up as well
- you like when armin reads to you, his soft voice reciting the words of the great gatsby
- you like it when eren can just tell youve had a rough day, and pulls you into a hug like hes protecting you from all the bad things in the world
- you love being with them. you love them. and you think that theyre it for you
i rushed the ending bc im fucking tired but i kinda wanna do a poly!series with like sasha, connie and jean, or annie, bertholdt and reiner, or any other poly ships u guys may request !
so yeah pls give me feedback it rlly helps me figure out whether you want a polyamorous series (or just like what i write in general), and it would be my first series ever which would be super cool anyways
yeah requests open for poly!ships anyways
#attack on titan#attack on titan fanfiction#attack on titan x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren yaeger x reader#eren yeager x reader#eren yeager headcanons#mikasa ackerman headcanons#mikasa ackerman x reader#armin arlert headcanons#armin arlert x reader#armin attack on titan#mikasa x reader#attack on titan mikasa#eren x armin#eren x mikasa#mikasa x eren#mikasa x armin#armin x eren#armin x mikasa#eren x mikasa x armin#eren x mikasa x armin x reader#polyamory#polyamourous#polyamorous#poly!aot
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It had been such a long time that he had to watch a fucking YouTube video to remember how to make hot chocolate.
Fuck, and good thinking, because it was nothing like he imagined. When you were a kid you had the powder and the mug, and you just poured some milk and stirred that bad boy until it was a muddy color...
That had been kids’ chocolate milk. This was motherfucking AMBROSIA IN A MUG.
He filled a pot with water and placed another metal container inside to heat up the milk without boiling it directly. The tiny carton he was able to afford was just enough to fill up his mug, so he had to be careful.
He then placed two rose petals he had stolen from Mrs Marsh’s front garden into the milk, to make it look slightly pinkish. He gently removed them. By then, his kitchen, whose usual stench was a mix of old clothing and dubious substances, now smelled like early spring. Flowery, but also with the comfort of warmth after the coldest day of winter, which would linger with him as much as he wanted. A bit of sugar, borrowed from a neighbour, a pinch of salt, and then...
Oh, then. Chocolate.
*Godiva chocolate*. You just had to quickly Google the thing to know how valuable it was, how many extensive processes those grains went through. You just had to smell the bar to transport yourself to a cocktail party in a posh New York penthouse where everyone wore gold thread dresses and diamond cuffs.
He felt like a guilty heathen for considering putting the chocolate in the milk while he prepared it. But he did it, because Zim had given him the chocolate. Because Zim was expecting him to consume it, and because Dib needed to assimilate the gesture on a molecular level—mix it with his blood, make it burst through his capillaries. He needed to soak his soul with it, and the only way was pouring it into his malnourished body, giving it sense and reason to be.
There was pride in his eyes when he managed a creamy, dark substance. It was not like the muddy water of cocoa powder. This was top notch, expensive-ass CEO level chocolate milk. The type that stayed in his mind forever, the capstone of his cooking piece. Gordon Ramsay could eat an entire ass.
It almost didn't need the milk he ended up adding, but the tutorial had been clear about that. Chocolate could be slightly acidic, and sugar was alkaline enough to cut the acid, make it gentler for his stomach. Dib definitely needed gentle in that area. He would never forgive himself if he felt the slightest discomfort with something he had longed for so hard.
Meeting his creation face to face made Dib feel like Dr. Frankenstein meeting with his creature. . Only this was the opposite, because this mug was pretty as fuck, and he couldn't wait to enjoy its company, the secrets unveiling in his tastebuds. He only hoped they weren't damaged with years of cup noodles and he could appreciate it accordingly.
His hands were cold, normally freezing at any time of the year. He had skeleton fingers with the slightest blanket of skin. His fingertips were slightly swollen, and he knew this was due to blood pressure issues. Bad eating habits, lots of salt in his foods. Hypertension wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, but he hoped it would wait to appear until later in his life.
The mug felt right in his fingertips, extending the warmth all the way to his chest.
His smile bloomed shyly with the first sniff at the chocolate milk.
Zim had given it to him.
Zim was in this mug, in the scent, in the warmth of the liquid. He was the right temperature of the milk, the pinch of salt. He was the lunch, the agitation and the peace. Zim was the spark of life that still smoldered in his heart, burning to be the ultimate defender.
Zim was the sweetness of the chocolate. It had to be searched for, but ended up as a piece of Godiva chocolate melting in his insides and taking sweet ownership of his cells, armoring his defenses, filling up the rivers of his fantasies.
Thinking of this allowed him a moment until the milk cooled down, and he drank a sip.
He could have cried.
He had to take a moment to savor it. The gentle kiss of sugar. A halo of immediate peace covering his body , providing a bandaid over some of the old wounds in the memory of his wretched childhood.
Whatever had happened on the day he was in bed after breaking a leg, it was now a fun story about having a mug of chocolate in his hands and admiring the rain outside.
Suddenly he was an okay guy, a normal person, standing in his kitchen. He wasn't a mess of a human being. He wasn't a mass of limbs and blood and piss and beer. He was a guy. A guy with a job, a guy in his apartment, having a comforting drink, like your average Joe.
He was not a skeleton, he was a person. A human, not an animal. He could make rational decisions. He got tired like anyone else. He paid rent, he walked under the sun like the rest of his kind.
There, in his home, holding the mug and putting nutrients inside himself, he felt right. Looking out the window like the other millions while sipping on his chocolate milk, he could put his own problems in perspective. He could put aside the alien invasion for five minutes. He could remove himself from hatred and pain.
Now Halfway through his mug, he sat on his chair, turning around to feel the sun on his pale face. Ah, more warmth. Was it always like this? He wished he could tell his 12-year-old self to bask in it. He wished he could tell him, "hey, put on those dorky sunglasses that Gaz mocked you about, and enjoy the sun." He wished he could go back and find the Godiva chocolate before, and give half a bar to Zim.
When he finished the drink, his stomach was heavy. The good kind of heavy. It was chilly outside, in the 50′s, but he felt warm all over. He knew he needed a coat, and maybe pants, and to turn on the heater probably, but for the moment he was feeling all right.
He was feeling all kinds of right.
He stood up, looking around. On the way to take his mug back to the dishwasher, he also grabbed a few pants and shirts lying around the room to place in the laundry basket.
Once in the kitchen, he absentmindedly threw some styrofoam noodle cups in the trash, as well as some paper wraps and beer cans.
He then took a shower, got dressed, and looked in the mirror.
“Hey, who's that smiling guy?” he wondered.
“Looks like me.”
_____________
Illustration by me, ficlet written by the Amazing @anarchymorty!!!! I Highly recommend you check out their blog, their writing is incredible :D
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Pt 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28
#zadr#zim and dib romance#ponytail dib au#dib membrane#invader zim#my art#fanart#fanfiction#writing#morty literally fekin winged this amazingness on the fly during a stream#they do this often and I'm sdhfjif#srsly Morty you're the fekin besttt#also thanks again to#@syrupwit#for betaing thisss#literally u always saving our asases dfhjf
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A/N: Hi guys! This was something I came up with whilst talking to @hotchsbabygirl and this fic was born, so enjoy!
Possible Triggers: Swearing, reference to a bad previous relationship where consent was not given and smoking.
It’s called... Sugar, yes please!
You sigh, typing up your report of the last case as you rub your eyes. “Anyone else jet lagged?” You ask Spencer and Emily who work at the desks beside you. It’s your fourth case with the team, and as much as you are settling in well, the flying is taking it’s toll on you and you suffer badly from jet lag.
“You get used to it. Took me a few months.” Emily said patting your shoulder relating to how you are feeling.
“3 months, 1 day, 4 hours and 1 minute and 59 seconds.” Spencer added.
“Oh, so the first few numbers of Pi then?” You smirked.
“I didn’t think of that, but yes, I suppose you could think of it that way.” Spencer said, adjusting his glasses.
“Nerds.” Morgan said. “Anyone wants a coffee speak now whilst it’s fresh.”
“Nothing nerdy about numbers and statistics.” You smile, walking over to the coffee machine as Spencer looks at you with googly eyes.
“Just like that, IQ of 187 drops to 60.” Emily laughed knowing Spencer has a crush on the young agent.
Spencer snapped back into reality and went to join you at the coffee machine where you were deciding which donut to have, settling on the chocolate sprinkles one.
“That’s my favourite too!” Spencer exclaimed
“Oh, sorry! Do you want it? I can have the cinnamon sugar instead.” You offer
“No. It’s fine really.” Spencer smiled picking up the cinnamon one. “You have it.”
“Or we can share.” You offer taking a large bite of the chocolate one, leaving Spencer the remaining half on a napkin.
Spencer nods, doing the same thing and hands you the other half of the cinnamon one, noticing you make a coffee.
“You want one?” You ask, noticing Spencer is still staring at you, not that you mind. You’ve developed a small crush on the slightly older agent, with you being 25 and Spencer being 28.
“Please. My mug has my name on it.. The one you have been drinking out of.. But it’s fine. A different mug will be sufficient.” Spencer says blushing
“Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry, I thought all these mugs were the same!” You say, feeling awful. “I don’t wear my glasses very often.”
“Don’t worry Y/N. Honestly. They are mostly the same, apart from the brightly coloured ones. They are Penelope’s.” Spencer said.
Meanwhile . . .
“Rossi, you won’t believe this. Y/N used Spencer’s mug and shared a donut with him, and he didn’t even flinch.” Derek said, sipping his coffee.
“Damn. He must have the hots for Y/N. You know she’s studying for a PhD in psychology and forensics?” Rossi said signing off a document that Penelope gave him.
“What are you all talking about?” Hotch said in a stern voice noticing the agents are not doing their work.
“Well…” JJ began and told Hotch
“Pretty boy better say something soon or I’m going to flip a table.” Morgan said
“Keep it professional.” Hotch said, pleased that Spencer has a crush.
“No. We will not rest until genius makes a move.” Penelope giggled
Back by the coffee machine . . .
“You want sugar?” You ask Spencer getting it down for yourself, adding an unhealthy amount.
“Please, same amount actually.” Spencer smiled, trying to buck up the courage to ask Y/N on a date. This weekend he had planned to go to a pumpkin patch and get a sweet pumpkin spiced latte afterwards, but would much rather have company, and take Y/N with him.
“And I thought I was the only one who liked sweet coffee.” You say putting the now empty bag of sugar in the bin.
“Looks like they’ll have to order more sugar.” Spencer smiled as you both walked back to your desks as everyone goes back to pretending they were busy and not listening/watching your conversation.
Later in the day . . .
Since there isn’t a case, you and the team go for a beer after work to celebrate your first month with the team.
You sit in the middle fiddling with your converse and sipping your beer. “So, what do you guys have planned for the weekend guys, if we don’t get a case?” You ask, attempting to make some form of conversation that isn’t work related.
“Chocolate thunder and I are going to his Mom’s birthday party.” Penelope smiled, sipping her cocktail as Derek smiled as Penelope snuggled into his arms.
You think Penelope and Derek are adorable together, and wish you had a relationship like that.
“I’m taking Jack go-karting with Henry.” Hotch smiled
“They had so much fun playing mini golf last time.” JJ said showing you photos on her phone.
“I’m taking Sergio for a check-up and meeting some college friends for a drink.” Emily smiled
“I’m revising for my Psychology exam. You all have much more fun planned than me.” You sigh, wishing to be doing something fun.
“I’m going to a Pumpkin patch and getting some pumpkins to carve.” Spencer smiled
“Do you like Halloween Spencer?” You ask, sipping your beer as everyone groans knowing what’s coming.
After about 5 minutes of Halloween facts... “So yes, I guess you could say I like Halloween.” Spencer says sipping his fruit cider.
“Well the pumpkin patch sounds like a lovely way to spend a Saturday.” You smile, “I’m going for a cigarette and to get another drink. Does everyone want the same of what they have had?” I’ll get a round on my way back.” You say
Everyone nods, and Rossi joins you outside.
“So pretty boy, you going to ask Y/N to the pumpkin patch with you?” Morgan asked
“No! I’m sure she was just being polite.” Spencer said sipping his cider, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.
“Just ask her Spence, I think she’d love to go with you.” JJ smiled
“You have nothing to lose besides us embarrassing you for a while regardless of the outcome.” Hotch said
“Besides, you have already shared cooties with her anyway.” Penelope said reminding them all of earlier
“Fuck this. I’ll do it if it shuts you all up.” Spencer sighed getting up
Outside …
“I can’t believe you have been here a month Y/N.” Rossi said exhaling from his cigarette. “It feels like you have been here longer.”
“I hope that’s a good thing Rossi.” You smile
“It is.. and Spencer has taken quite the shine to you too.” He says
“I think it’s that I’m studying for a PhD, or that he’s no longer the youngest on the team.” You say
Rossi chooses not to say anything, as the door opens and out comes Spencer. “Hey guys.” He says and gives Rossi a facial expression that means, “Please go away”. Rossi nods in understanding and goes back inside where the team are all behind the door like children, about to listen to the conversation.
“Hey Doctor Reid.” You smile at him
“Hey future Doctor Y/S/N.” He smiled back
“You come out to smoke or just to say hello?” You ask.
“Both actually, plus I got a leg cramp.” He said stretching his leg
“I didn’t realise you smoked.” You say lighting another one up
“Mainly after cases as a way of relaxing, or if something is on my mind.” Spencer said. “Can I use your lighter?” He asks
“Sure. Which is it today?” You ask handing him your lighter.
Spencer lights his cigarette and hands your lighter back. “Hm?”
“You said you smoke after a case, or if something is on your mind. Which is it? It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me.” You say taking a drag from your cigarette.
“The latter.” Spencer says taking a drag from his. “I’ve been thinking...” He begins
“You? Thinking? No.. Really?!” You joke, trying to cheer Spencer up from whatever is on his mind.
“Come on pretty boy... You can do this.” Morgan whispers from the other side of the door.
Spencer flushed his cheeks. “Do you like Halloween?” He asks as a few quiet groans are heard from the other side of the door.
“Must be the game on the TV.” You say
“Or our bastard co-workers.” Spencer thinks to himself.
“Probably.” Spencer says through gritted teeth
“I love Halloween! I’ve got pumpkin and ghost lights around my apartment at the moment.” You smile. “Why?”
“Er..” Spencer shakes a little dropping his cigarette which he quickly picks up again. “I was wondering… It’s okay if you don’t… But do you fancy going to the Pumpkin Patch with me tomorrow?” He says looking down at his converse, with his Halloween socks, little ghosts on one and Frankenstein’s on the other.
You smile, a single tear going down your cheek. It has been a while since a guy asked you out, since you left your ex after he cheated. “Spencer, are you asking me on a date?” You ask
“Y..Yes I am. But like I said, it’s fine if you say you don’t want to.” Spencer says, still looking down.
“I’d love to go with you Spencer.” You smile, lifting Spencer’s head up with your hands as cheers are heard from the other side of the door.
Spencer looks at you, smiling wide. “Really?”
You nod. “As long as I get to buy a pumpkin for my apartment.”
“As long as I get to kiss your cheek.. Like, right now if that’s okay.” Spencer said biting his lip.
“Damn pretty boy.” Derek whispered. “We didn’t discuss this.”
“But he did ask for consent. That’s more than her ex did.” Penelope whispered
“Her ex?” Derek whispered back
“Long story delicious.” Penelope whispered
“Yes Spencer, that is more than okay.” You smile as Spencer softly kisses your cheek making you blush.
“I’ll pick you up at 12.” Spencer smiled, putting his hand on yours. “For now though, I think you promised the team a round of drinks.”
“Shit. I forgot about that.” You say getting up, still holding Spencer’s hand and walk to the door.
“MOVE MOVE MOVE.” Emily said shoving everyone back to their seats but it was too late, you and Spencer caught them all in the act.
“I didn’t realise a sticky bar floor was comfortable to stand on for more than 2 minutes.” You chuckle, finally clocking what the cheers were about earlier.
________________________________________________________________
Well guys, I hope you enjoyed that! I have a few more in the works, and let me know either in the comments, asks or on messages, if you’d like to be on my taglist! Requests are OPEN!
Follow up coming soon!
Taglist: @pumpkin-goob , @jpegjade , @andiebeaword , @hopebaker , @hotchsbabygirl , @hercleverboy , @cupcake525 , @aperrywilliams
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darkicedragon
on the note of the bartender au, frankenstein has to specifically tell muzaka no challenging m21. esp near the start when m21 doesnt have the cologne
either that or muzakas confused why m21 doesnt even go up to talk to him and frankenstein has to explain
ococo
But what if it was too late and Muzaka already challenged him
darkicedragon
M21s ònó face was enough to let muzaka know m21 didnt want one and wouldnt enjoy it 🤣
ococo
"ooooookayy! Maybe another time?"
M ònó
"I guess not"
darkicedragon
Yes, exactly XD
ococo
XD
aZure
depends if Muzaka or Franken know each other
if Muzaka's just dropping by to check Franken bc maybe he heard about him and heard about his city and how he's keeping peace and how the place is pretty neutral bc Franken squishes any person who tries to stir up trouble
Muzaka might be like 83c
on one hand bc his pack might be like 'this guy's making fun of us, thinking he can defeat werewolves. gotta show him our strength'
and Muzaka might be like 'ok, fine, I'll go check it out'
darkicedragon
both
aZure
Muzaka walking into the place like a pack leader, all smug and stuff
but Franken gets right in his face like ^-^ 'the fuck ya think ur doing'
'so I heard you're housing runaway werewolves'
'your hearing must be going bad. I'm simply taking care of my employees.'
'it's against pack rules'
'thank goodness I am not following your pack rules, then, right?"
darkicedragon
>8DDDD
'and can you see any pack here, hmm?'
aZure
"I do see a couple a werewolves."
"Oh dear, your eyes must be going bad as well if you think 2 werewolves are a pack. Either that or you really have low bar on how many werewolves pack should consist of."
darkicedragon
'now, are you going to be a paying customer, or are you just going to continue being a nuisance?' ^-^
'im not being a nuisance. im just-'
'ah good, youre a customer. what will you be ordering then?' ^-^ ^-^
aZure
Muzaka at the bar like o3o with a fruity, non-alcoholic cocktail
darkicedragon
m21 dutifully ignoring muzaka, bc he doesnt even know who muzaka is XD
aZure
he prolly heard the convo and he's like =-=
'dunno who he is but he's trouble'
darkicedragon
'sooooo you like it here?'
'yeah'
'howd you get in?'
'....................i applied for the job and got it...................'
aZure
Franken eventually figuring out the city is considered his territory
so when there's trouble breweing, he's like *sigh* 'are you really going to stir trouble in my territory?'
Franken like |-^ 'please do not make my bartender uncomfortable or I will kick you out ~ ❤️
darkicedragon
'im just talkin!'
^-^ 'and hes made it clear he has no interest. he is here to do his job, pls do not distract him from doing it' ^-^
muzaka going back to his pack like
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
'there were werewolves, but they werent territorial'
'so we can just take over? awesome!'
'iiiii dont think so'
aZure
'what? we should just take over and have those guys join us'
'nope, that territory belongs to someone'
'but you said -'
'he ain't a werewolf. dunno what he is tho'
aZure
Muzaka waiting for M to talk to him?
asks him why he won't join a pack?
and M's like 'bc you all suck and packs are just about fighting and controlling the weak'
darkicedragon
if muzakas waiting for that, hes going to be waiting forever XDD
or muzakas like, 'soooooo hows your folks?'
'i dont have any'
QAQ-!!!
'you dont have a family??'
'no? whats the big deal?'
aZure
Muzaka hears about M's previous pack and what they've been doing and is like =-= 'hmmm'
darkicedragon
yussssss
or ms previous pack tries to break in and grab m while muzakas there, and muzaka and frankenstein throw them out
aZure
YESSSS >8DDD
darkicedragon
which is how kentas gets called in XD
aZure
calling him a traitor and a coward
and saying no one is leaving the pack and abandoning them
afterwards Franken is like 'u need to do your job better' =-= 👉 at Muzaka
cue some time later, Muzaka asks Frankne for information, bc he's got some very reliable info
Muzaka dropping by like 'sooo, any news?'
'seems like the north pack is getting into some trouble with the catfolk'
darkicedragon
tao in the corner like owo;;;;
aZure
before they know it, Franken starts handing out missions with stuff that needs to be solved
pack problems, territory problems, creature trafficking, etc
darkicedragon
yaaaas >8D
frankenstein ends up being an information broker, pfft
aZure
and Franken's family starts growing more and more bc Muzaka just brings back to him all the bbies he helps/saves
'I know this guy who can give you a job and a place ta live.'
darkicedragon
and kentas has no clue abt all this bc hes a hermit and only pays attn to m21 his job to listen to anything else
aZure
XDDD
he wuvs likes his boyfriend uwu
has a moment of ✨A✨ when he sees Muzaka, the Lord, walking into the bar
darkicedragon
yussss
m21 while wiping down the tables is just like 'go talk to him'
'but im working!'
'frankenstein doesnt seem to mind if werewolves talk to him while youre working. is he famous or something?'
OAO 'hes the lord!!'
'oh. .............lord of being a dumbass or-?'
'ssshhhhh!!!'
aZure
OMGGG YESSS XDDD
Kentas being both like 😳 and 😱 ad O//A//O
'UCAN'TSAYTHATHE'SREALLYSTRONGANDIADMIREHIM'
'want his autograph or somethin'?'
darkicedragon
'whats an autograph?'
'.......right. fights' //sigh
aZure
... wait
WAIT
if M's a werewolf and has no interest in fights and stuff like that
does he mean he's the werewolf equivalent of an asexual/aromantic
darkicedragon
yes òuó
aZure
yesss XDDD
Franken low-key ^-^ threatening Muzaka
and he goes 😳
'damn, I just met ya 5 mins ago'
darkicedragon
though it might be the human half not helping/interacting with the werewolf half with m21s attraction/arousal etc etc
yeah, muzaka would be like that ahaha
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fine line
summary: Boy and girl meet. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl live happily ever after. Except boy is Harry Styles and even when love comes easy, it doesn’t come simple.
disclaimer: this is my first harry fic ever so... how terrifying. also, it is pure self-indulgent garbage and I Frankenstein-ed the shit out of it a dozen times so y’all are gonna have to forgive me. let’s do this. (btw thank you to @hsogolden for this challenge; there’s nothing quite like a goal that makes you force yourself to write)
warnings: some fluff, some angst, a tiny bit of smut and a whole lotta nonsense.
word-count: about 6,000 words
“Come on,” She yells up the stairs. “Daddy’s here!”
“Coming!” the four-year-old yells back, sock-clad feet hitting the stairs with a muffled thud.
“Jamie,” Harry calls, not as loud as they are. He knows his son can’t see him, but surely he can hear his voice; it’s not the biggest of houses. “Don’t run down the stairs. It’s dangerous.”
A quiet and frustrated okay, Daddy is heard in the background, and both the adults smile softly. Jamie’s a cute kid.
“I’m dropping him off at my mum’s and I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s Tuesday night. Don’t you have a song to write or whatever?”
“Can’t really miss my girl’s birthday, can I?”
She laughs, surprised, and the sound of it reminds Harry of the shy girl he met at a bar all those years ago. “It’s not my birthday yet, H.”
“Still,” Harry takes a second to look behind her and check on their son, who’s putting on his shoes while his backpack and a few toys are scattered around him. “Need any help, mate?”
Jamie mutters an agreement so She shifts in the door to let Harry in, and his own face stares back at him from a bunch of family pictures all over the shelves. He kneels beside his child and starts mindlessly tying his shoelaces, turning his attention back to her.
“You should dress up.”
“Harry,” she scoffs. “Is that an insult?”
“Nope,” he pops the p just as he finishes with Jamie’s shoes. “Get your stuff, Jamie. Let’s go see Nana.”
“Can we get milkshakes?”
“Sure, mate,” but She’s glaring at him. “Tomorrow, when it’s not so late, though.”
“But Daddy—”
“Tomorrow, baby.” She interrupts. With a kiss on their son’s brown curls, she says: “Go wait for Daddy in the car. And behave at your Nana’s. I love you.”
Jamie walks away with a “Love you, Mommy”, stuffed kitten under one of his arms and his half-closed backpack hanging on the other. Harry bends over to pick up his other toys but She stops him with a gesture. “Don’t bother, H. I’ll clean it up once you’re gone.”
“I was gonna take them with us.”
“It’s just one night, he won’t miss them,” She pauses. “Too much.”
“Guess mum will just have to entertain him, then,” he drops the toys on the couch and smiles at her. “Be ready, huh? I’ll text you when I’m near.”
“Okay. Where are we going?”
“Let’s get a drink. For old time’s sake.”
She nods, looking suspicious. Then his fingertips brush her cheek and her eyes soften.
“Let’s just not get wasted on a school-night, okay?”
“We’ll be alright, love,” he says, kissing the soft cheek he just touched. It feels like home against Harry’s lips.
------------------------------------------
7 years earlier…
Harry doesn’t notice her for a while. They’re both sitting at the bar counter, only one empty stool between the two of them, but the lighting is dim and the girl looks as closed off as one can get; stiff posture and hair hanging over her face while she stares straight ahead into the liquor shelf behind the bartender. Up until that point, she could be furniture for all he cares.
Tonight, up until that point, he had been reveling in his loneliness. Harry wasn’t one to enjoy being alone much, but after months of touring, family holidays, and being surrounded by more people than he can even imagine at any given time, he got the appeal of listening to his own thoughts for a while. Even if it made him a little restless after a few weeks of it. Even if he caught himself with his mouth open, about to make a random remark on the cute bartender or the questionable music at least twice. Even if he bounced his leg nonstop and grabbed his phone every five minutes, pondering on who to call for company.
So maybe he wasn’t reveling in the loneliness anymore. But he had dressed as ordinarily as humanly possible without wearing jeans (there were no pearls or high-heeled boots in sight) and was drinking beer instead of a Cosmo, blending in. He had to make the most of it. What could he tell himself that he didn’t already know? Maybe, Harry thought, I’m just not that interesting. If he couldn’t stand to spend half an hour hanging out with himself, had people been lying to him? He could feel the spiraling begin.
And then his song starts playing.
At the sound of his voice coming from the speakers, she turns her head. Her hair moves away with the movement, the corner of her lips twitching as if she’s about to smile. She doesn’t, but that’s when Harry notices her. The girl’s mouth moves and he’s pretty sure that if he were just a little bit closer, there’d be a faint whisper of stop your crying, baby, it’s a sign of the times. He wishes he could hear it.
He continues to shoot sideway glances, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by staring. He’s not sure he wants to be noticed, either. She’s a pretty girl singing along to one of his songs; there are many of those. He doesn’t really want to make a scene. But then again, what’s the chance that this woman won’t turn her head at all for however long they’re there?
Before he can worry about that answer, it happens. The bartender is cleaning the end of the counter to Harry’s right, and she shifts to order another drink. As soon as she does, their eyes meet. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing a baseball hat or a beige knitted sweater and black slacks, she knows he’s Harry Styles. The more the thinks about it, the more self-conscious he becomes. Of course he’s hiding something; who wears that kind of outfit to a bar?
“Hey,” he softly says. He’s not sure how this will go, but so far it feels better than trying to entertain himself. Better than wondering.
Her hand shakes around the glass, empty except for the lime and melting ice, but her voice doesn’t quiver. “Hello.”
“Can I get your drink for you?”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s fine,” he calls over the bartender. “Can we get another of what she’s having? And a Cosmo.”
What the hell, he figures. It’s not like any of the few middle-aged people in tables around them will see a pink cocktail and suddenly wonder “Isn’t that…?”. Either they recognize him or don’t. When the bartender nods, he turns back to her.
“You’re not from here, are you?”
She shakes her head no.
“America?”
“Not the United States, no.”
He’s about to guess Canada, even if her accent doesn’t sound like that at all, and make a fool out of himself when she says: “I’m not a native English speaker. I teach English back home.”
“Really!” his excitement is the first thing to get a smile out of her. It kinda throws him off for a second; it comes and goes quickly, but her whole face changes around it. Looking away for a second, he notices that their drinks are about to be ready. “Can I —” Harry gestures to the stool between them.
The girl nods, and he comes closer. Their knees touch when he sits.
“Are you here for work?”
“No,” the side of her mouth twitches again. “What about you?”
“I’m home. Just taking some time off.”
“At this time of the year? Sounds like a cool job.”
It’s a bad joke, but he plays into it anyway. “Meh,” Harry shrugs. “It pays the bills.”
“Good for you,” she laughs quietly. “I got this trip for my birthday.”
“Well, happy birthday!”
“It’s not today.”
The bartender places their drinks on the counter, the liquid sloshing around a bit, and a little bit of her gin and tonic spills over her hand. “God,” the bartender says. “Sorry, I’ll get—”
“Don’t worry,” she smiles as if to say it’s okay. Then she licks the back of her hand and then her lips. Harry moves uncomfortably in his seat.
“So,” he says once the bartender leaves, taking a sip of his Cosmopolitan. Way better than that shitty beer. “Am I the first or last person to wish you a happy birthday?”
“First. I’ll turn twenty-two in two days.”
“It was an honor to get it wrong, then.”
“Not very subtle, are you?”
He blushes. Actually blushes.
There’s a silent beat where she seems torn between laughing awkwardly or just straight up bolting out of the room, but the girl settles on chugging her cocktail while Harry stutters.
“I’m —” they start at the same time.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t —” he stops himself from saying he didn’t mean to flirt. He did mean to flirt. Harry just didn’t mean to be so shit at it. So he settles for: “I just noticed you singing along.”
She brings her drink back to her lips, as if asking for some time to think of what to say, but half a cocktail isn’t enough to hide her smile. He’s staring so intently that she tips the glass towards him and genuinely asks “Do you want a sip?”
Harry just shakes his head no.
“Um, yeah,” the girl starts. “I’m a big fan of yours— your work, I guess.”
“Did you go to any of the shows last year?”
“I couldn’t,” she admits. “But I’ve seen some videos. You looked like you were having fun.”
The comment makes him smile. “I really was. Where are you from? Didn’t I go to your country?”
He realizes then that he sounds pretentious. Maybe she just didn’t want to go to the fucking concert; why is he questioning this stranger as if she’s missed his sweet sixteen? Maybe she’s not even a fan and just heard his single on the radio once. God, what a disaster.
The girl looks embarrassed, like she can’t believe she’s telling him this but won’t shy away from speaking. She tells him the name of her country and explains that she doesn’t live anywhere near the big cities where he played, so she couldn’t afford the trip.
“But if you’re ever passing by again…”
“I’ll let you know,” he says. She laughs quietly, but Harry isn’t really joking. He can see himself texting a nice girl and asking her to come and watch him sing. He’s certainly more impressive up on the stage than here, doing whatever it is that he’s doing right now. “Are you traveling by yourself?”
She hesitates to answer and it makes him cringe. “I sounded like a creep, didn’t I? Jesus. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
“Don’t worry about it,” and there it is again, the wide smile that changes her face. Out of all the things Harry Styles could do to charm a woman, acting socially inept isn’t the one he figured would win over a foreign English teacher that hangs out at random London bars for middle-aged couples on awkward dates. But here they are and the more he fucks up, the more she looks relaxed.
Harry decides to take what he can get. “I guess I haven’t been getting enough practice talking to strangers lately.”
She’s still smiling, not as wide but just as bright. “I’d probably want a break from people too if I were you. I got here yesterday and I’m already done talking to strangers. I knew it’d be hard to get around in another continent but this is a whole other level; I can’t walk two meters without asking someone for directions.”
He raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Is Google Maps not doing it for you?”
“Shut up,” she chuckles. “Data is expensive abroad, y’know? But to be honest, I’m so fucking obtuse when it comes to maps. The thing is pointing one way and the next I know, I walked miles in the opposite direction. It’s much easier to have an actual person telling me where to go.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, licking his lips after finishing his drink. He sees her eyes flicker down to his mouth for a second, just like his did a few minutes ago. “You have a point.”
“I do?”
“Not really. I just didn’t want you to feel bad about being a confused old lady.”
That makes her laugh, and Harry feels his heart skip a beat. It’s nice to know she thinks he’s funny.
“But you can’t really be a confused old lady, right? Being a teacher and all.”
Like she said, not subtle at all. But he wants to know more about her.
“Bold of you to assume that most teachers are not confused old ladies, but,” she too finishes her second cocktail, pushing her empty glass away from her and closer to the one Harry just left on the counter. “I’m just a confused masters-student trying to look less confused so my students won’t give me shit about it.”
“Do you like it? The whole academic thing and teaching.”
Her smile is soft around the edges, and he can see the drinks catching up to her. “They have their moments, both working hard to understand the things I’m interested in and helping people learn another language. It’s all hard but worth it,” she’s quiet for a second. “Like most things in life, I guess. What about you?”
“Do I like being an academic?”
She rolls her eyes. “Your job, silly. Is it hard but worth it?”
“I guess it’s like yours in the sense that it helps me understand the thing I’m interested in, too.”
“Music?”
“Me,” he answers, and there is that laugh again.
“God,” she says, voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm. “I hate rockstars so much.”
“Don’t we all?” he sees her staring at their empty glasses, so he offers to buy her another drink even though she looks sleepy. Harry figures he’ll drop her off wherever she’s staying so she doesn't have to walk around alone and drunk.
“I don’t think I can do another one,” she says. “But maybe we could share it? I can definitely deal with half a drink. And I’ll pay for it.”
Before he can say anything, she calls the bartender over and orders another Cosmo on her tab.
“You didn’t have to,” he says, referring both to paying and asking for a cocktail she knows he likes.
“Don’t worry about it,” he thinks it’s probably the fifth time she’s said that in not even an hour. Huh. “God, isn’t it stuffy in here?”
He doesn't think so, so it’s probably the alcohol, but he agrees while she shakes off her coat. When the girl turns so she can hang the fabric over her bar stool, Harry can see, among other quotes and drawings on her arm, the words sweet creature above her right elbow.
“Nice tattoo,” he comments, feeling weirdly proud. It’s not like he doesn’t know hundreds of people get the words he sings on their bodies, but this is different. It’s like trying to know more about someone and realizing, somehow, you already do.
“Which one?” she asks. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over it. It gives her goosebumps. “Oh. It’s a nice song.”
“Why did you get it?”
It makes him feel like an annoying interviewer, trying to get a meaningful answer that isn’t necessarily there. But he’d still like to hear what she has to say.
“I’ve heard I’m not one of those,” is her answer. His hand drops from her elbow.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been told I’m not the sweetest creature,” the smile is gone. She shifts in her seat as if just realizing an old bruise is still tender to the touch.
Before he can decide between asking more about it and risk her thinking he’s a nosy asshole or just give his uninformed opinion and claim that’s bullshit, a Cosmopolitan is put on the bar between them.
“Thank you,” she says to the bartender. He’d thank them too, but he’s staring at that suddenly serious face, wondering what else is there to know about that tattoo. About her.
“Doesn’t it become a reminder, though?” Harry asks, and she looks back at him, not understanding the question. “The tattoo. Doesn’t it remind you that someone feels that way about you?”
“Yeah, I guess” she takes a sip of the drink and slides it over to him, their fingers touching in the process; it’s only for a second, and her hand is gone before Harry can understand why he wishes it wasn’t. “But I got it so, when I think of how he saw me, I would know I’m the one who gets to say what I am or am not.”
Harry is curious but doesn’t really know what to say to that, and it shows. She cringes.
“I always do this, you know? I drink and start getting all sad and telling people about all sorts of stuff no one wants to know. I’m sorry, Harry.”
It’s the first time he’s heard say his name. It sounds good on her accent.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and it makes her smile because she realizes he’s been paying attention.
They share one more drink, and Harry pays for the third Cosmo of the night. By the time they’re finished with it, both of them are giggling and he has one of his hands on her bare knee. After the slightly-awkward oversharing, she proceeded to point out how a couple on the dark corner of the bar seemed, judging by their uncomfortable silence and resentful faces, to be on the brink of divorce. Harry asked her, mostly joking, if she had been around a lot of divorcing couples; she chuckled and then commented on how a dude sitting by the restrooms was probably fingering his girlfriend under the table. She never said no or proved to know about his family by asking him the same thing back.
But now the whole divorce thing was long forgotten. She and Harry had spent the last hour making up the most obnoxious stories about other customers and whispering them to each other, bodies getting closer and closer every minute.
“You know what I want?” she mutters. Between being shorter than Harry and slouching on her seat, her lips don’t reach his ear, so he can feel her breath on the side of his neck. He shivers.
“What?” he asks in the same low tone, eyes glittering with mischief and tipsiness.
Her left hand grips his bicep while she practically purrs: “I really want a milkshake.”
From the way his drunken-self gasps and moans God, yes, she might as well have said that she really wanted to suck his dick.
They pay for their drinks, shared or otherwise, and leave the bar. There aren’t many people out on the street at 1 a.m, but Harry still pulls his hat down a little.
“So,” she says. “Should I get us an uber? Where do British people get milkshakes? Is it far?”
“I’ll just call a driver.”
She looks taken aback. “Like a private one?”
Harry nods. “He’ll be here in a minute.”
And he is. She stumbles into the car along with Harry, sluggishly laying her head on his shoulder after closing the door.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he murmurs against her hair.
So she does.
------------------------------------------
Between dinner, a few drinks and all the talking, they had already broken the not-staying-out-too-late rule. Turns out that rehashing a few days’ worth of parenting, teaching and music producing is time consuming even when you’re not having this much fun.
“One more?” Harry asks, pointing to her empty gin and tonic glass, the shadow of laughter still on his lips after a solid fifteen minutes of her getting progressively more aggravated about a student that “couldn’t, to save his own life, make anyone believe he read The Color Purple”.
“Yeah,” she says. “Share it with me?”
“Sure, love.”
He orders another cocktail, and She smiles at him even while thanking the waitress.
“What’s that look for?”
“Nothing,” She replies, still staring shamelessly. It’s easy after all these years. “You just look really good.”
“So do you.”
She shrugs, and before he can say that she really does look beautiful and that he wishes he could prove to her just how much he thinks so (which is a cheap but sure way of making her blush), the waitress places the new cocktail between them.
“God, that was fast,” She mumbles, impressed.
After She takes the first sip, they both start at the same time. “So—”
They giggle, but since She begins sipping again, Harry speaks.
“We’ll both have a couple of months off during the summer, so I was thinking… You could go home.”
“Yeah, I should start planning once the semester ends, I’m just so—” She sighs, and Harry understands.
“I figured you could go and spend the first few weeks, or even the first month, back home while Jamie and I do our thing.” She looks like she’s about to interrupt him, so he holds up a hand as if asking her to wait. “Hear me out. You go home, spend time with your family or your old friends or, y’know, yourself, because — and don’t even fight me on this — I know you need your alone time. And after you’ve had your break, we’ll meet you there and hang out until you need to get back to prepare for next semester and I need to sort things out for the tour. You can even go somewhere else by yourself before going home or we could do a family thing before coming back to the UK if you and Jamie want to. How does that sound?”
She doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t even smile. She just keeps looking at him while sliding the gin and tonic glass across the table so he can have his share. Harry takes two big gulps and waits for her to speak.
“I don’t—” She stops herself. “You thought of it all, didn’t you?”
“I tried,” he laces his fingers through hers. “So you wouldn’t have to. But, y’know, it’s just an idea. And I thought it’d be better if I brought it up early so we could plan everything properly and, in case you didn’t want help paying for them, the plane tickets wouldn’t cost you an arm and a leg.”
Still silent, She looks down at their joint hands.
“Thank you, H.”
“I didn’t do anything, love.”
He touches her chin so that She’ll look him in the eyes.
“I love you,” Harry whispers.
She doesn’t have to say it too. He knows.
------------------------------------------
6 years earlier…
“Hey, love,” Harry whispers from the other side of the phone call. “How are things?”
She smiles a tired smile up at her dark ceiling at the sound of his voice. “Things are…” The smile fades, replaced by a shaky sigh. “Things are fine, H.”
She means things are like they have been for as long as she can remember. Difficult. A shit-paying job where she feels like a failure most of the time, too much school work, family drama and all sorts of friendship insecurities. There are good days of course, but today just isn’t one of them. She didn’t want to ruin his call, the only silver lining of the night, by complaining. So things are fine.
“What about you? Is everything good over there?”
“Everything’s great. Had some really good wine earlier today, reminded me of you. You would’ve loved it.”
“Bet you were in a villa, feeling the breeze on your hair, staring at a gorgeous canal or some fancy shit like that,” she jokes.
Harry laughs. “Yeah,” is his answer.
Oh.
“I kinda wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
“About what?”
She sits up on the bed, her room quiet except for the shifting of her body over the clothes she took off but didn’t bother to fold before laying down after work.
“You should come,” he answers on the phone.
“What?”
“To Italy.”
“Baby—”
“Come on, love. You always wanted to travel here. Come meet me.”
“Harry,” she sighs. “You’re insane.”
She can picture his face falling just by the sound of his voice. “Why?”
“It’s the middle of September; I’m working, I’m studying. I can’t even afford it. Do you need any more reasons?”
Harry sounds frustrated when he answers, and it brings tears to her eyes. So much for a silver lining. “You can take a day or two off, right? Or just stay the weekend. You know I’ll pay for your flight.”
“Baby,” she takes a deep breath, trying to not let her annoyance show. “I’m almost finished with my master’s; I won’t get it done by missing classes. And yes, you’ll pay for my flight, but that’s not the only expense that goes into traveling and I won’t depend on your money. You know this. We can go when there’s a holiday here. Or mid-December, when the semester is over. I’ll have saved some money by then. I love you for thinking of me but… I can’t, H. Not now.”
He mumbles something under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I didn’t hear you,” but she knows he did it on purpose. “Can you say that again, please?”
“I said you’re making up excuses.”
‘You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I’m serious! You won’t even try.”
“How am I supposed to try? Either I can or can’t go. And I can’t.”
“You won’t even consider it,” his voice is filled with disappointment. It makes her blood boil.
“Harry, you sound like a child. Listen to me. Even if I went only for the weekend, I’d waste almost an entire day flying back and forth. We wouldn’t even have twenty-four hours together.”
“Don’t you think that sounds better than not being together at all?”
“I bet it does sound better for you, sitting your ass in a gondola, eating your rich-people cheese with your snobby friends, thinking of lyrics about fucking a girl that second-guesses putting you before herself while said girl is out there, flying to you so she can have a hug and a kiss and pretend that everything is fine.”
She’s crying by the time she stops talking, and she knows he can hear it. While she sobs, mostly angry but also starting to regret saying anything at all, he doesn’t say a thing. He could have stopped breathing altogether, considering how quiet the other end of the line is.
“Harry?” she half-pleads, half-scolds. “Talk to me!”
“I’m sorry,” his voice is uncertain, like he can’t quite figure out what to say and how to say it. “I guess I— I miss you. I’m being a prick.”
The weigh on her chest doesn’t go away with the apology, because she doesn’t know if he understands. And she just called his friends snobby and said she pretends to be happy. God. But she can’t say she’s sorry too because she won’t stop crying. She’s just so tired.
“Love,” Harry says, firmly this time. “Don’t cry, it’s okay. Have some sleep. Drink some water. We’ll talk properly tomorrow.”
“No,” she hiccups into the phone. “Wait. I’m—”
“We’ll talk, I promise,” she thinks he’ll hang up then when he hesitates, but he speaks again. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
The line goes dead. She cries herself to sleep.
------------------------------------------
"God," he pants against her bruised neck.
“What?” She teases. “Are you getting too old for this?”
“Shut up,” Harry laughs, still breathless. “I’m barely in my mid-thirties.” He pushes the sheets away and gets up, looking down at her naked body sprawled across the bed; if he wasn’t so tired, he’d be horny again. “Want some water?”
“Yeah. Thanks, baby.”
He walks out of the bedroom wearing absolutely nothing, which is one of the perks of a child-free house. By the time he’s back with their water, She’s wearing his teal button-up and brushing her teeth, messy natural hair framing her face.
“H,” she calls from the suite’s bathroom, speech slurred because of the toothbrush. She spits before continuing, “Can you sing me a song?”
Harry chugs his water and lays back on the bed, waiting for her without saying a word.
“Can you?” She asks again, climbing on the bed in all fours, hovering over him. “Can you?” A whisper against his mouth. But when he leans over for a kiss, she falls to the bed, suddenly grinning, and hugs his side. “Come on.”
“Such a tease,” he mumbles, already hugging her back and tangling his legs with hers.
Harry starts singing quietly, voice still a little rough even after the water, and he can feel her smiling lips against his chest.
Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you…
“How romantic,” she says quietly once he’s done.
“That’s me, only doing the best for my girl” he says smugly, which makes her laugh, but then he turns serious. “I love you, you know?”
“Love you too, H.”
Harry takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”
------------------------------------------
5 years earlier…
The paparazzi call her name on screen. There are not many of them, but it disturbs Harry nonetheless; three or four photographers outside a restaurant, just waiting for her and yelling at her once she walks out the door. She looks nervous in a way Harry can imagine other people not noticing, fidgeting hands and a fast walk. But her face is serious and dismissive while she walks straight ahead.
“Are you Harry Styles’ new girlfriend?” one of them asks from behind the camera.
Harry pauses the video, telling himself he needs to ask someone on his team how the hell they found out who she is just by a blurry picture taken through his car window a few days ago when she’s not even on social media, which is true. But he’s also not sure he wants to hear her answer. He checks the time under the video; it was posted less than an hour ago. He should call her and ask if everything’s okay, but he just presses play again.
“No,” she answers right away. Harry feels like he’s sinking.
Why the fuck did they not discuss this before she moved to England? What was he thinking when he resisted PR’s involvement? They should’ve planned for this, coordinated answers, made up their minds so he wouldn’t feel sucker-punched and she wouldn’t be thrusted into the spotlight with no warning.
“You were in his car last Monday!” someone says, as if telling her she’s a liar.
She doesn’t bother responding to that. They keep calling her name.
“What are you and Harry, then?”
She’s almost down the subway’s stairs and there’s not many seconds left in the video, so he’s not too worried about what happens next. Harry looks at his phone, expecting her to disappear from the frame so he can text her and ask her to come over so they can talk, so he can hold her and make sure she’s not freaking out. But she slows down, considering the person’s question. She turns her head to a camera somewhere to the right of the video he’s watching, curls falling down the side of her face.
Matter-of-factly, with amused eyes but no smile, she says: “Soulmates.” And then she’s down the stairs and the video ends.
Harry stays very still. Text notifications appear over and over, more than one person saying the same thing: apparently they found her on her university’s website, where she’s listed as a doctoral student. He doesn’t open the messages, though; doesn’t even breathe until there’s a knock at the door.
Everyone else just rings the bell or asks to be buzzed in. It’s her.
Harry walks to the door, bare feet sliding on the wooden floors, and opens it. She’s standing in front of him dressed in the same black skirt and pink sweater from the video, hair messy around her serious face.
“H,” she starts. The sound of her voice relieves most of the pressure in his chest. “I—”
He doesn’t let her finish; just kisses her like he would kiss a soulmate. She steps forward, dropping her bag and closing the door with one hand while the other busies itself holding onto the soft cotton of Harry’s worn T-shirt, the feeling of his tongue against hers making her dizzy.
They stumble into the couch, her hips sitting on top of his, breathing heavily against each other’s lips. Harry takes longer than necessary stripping her of her sweater, gripping every inch of exposed skin as if he could keep it to himself. “Harry,” She whispers, asking him to hurry. The pink fabric falls to the floor and his right hand instantly pulls at her hair, her back arching so he can get one of her nipples on his mouth. “Harry,” She breathes out again, tortured, and a careless move of her hips makes them both gasp. The hand that’s not tangled in her hair squeezes her tight so hard they’re both sure it’ll bruise.
“Lay back,” he says before sucking on her other nipple, teeth grazing her skin and making her grind into him with more purpose. Despite his words, Harry doesn’t move so she can do what he’s telling her to. “I want to—” he bites her shoulder, hard, “see if—” sucks a mark into the side of her breast, “you can move like that on my face.”
She moans at his words, his mouth, his hand on her hair, tightening by the second.
“No,” she licks her lips, but never finishes the thought. Her hand drops to the one he has on her tight and squeezes it. “Can you—”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, letting go of her thigh. His hand disappears beneath her skirt, and she can feel him pushing her panties out of the way. He swipes a finger against her so lightly she can barely feel it. “Is that what you want?”
“More.”
She lifts her hips, trying to get more friction on his hand. “Come on.”
Harry slides one finger into her, then another. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and she feels like she’s stopped breathing altogether once he fucks into her fast and hard, thumb brushing against her clit.
“Kiss me,” she whimpers, riding his fingers frantically, the sweat dripping down her torso sticking to Harry’s T-shirt.
Their mouths meet at the same time he squeezes a third finger into her. She moans against his lips and holds his waist under his clothes, seemingly undecided between tugging at his shirt or his belt.
“H, let me,” she murmurs the words into his lips, still pulling at his clothes.
“No,” he sounds as wrecked as she does, which is saying a lot. “Cum for me first.”
Harry stops moving his hand, tries to tease her, but she barely seems to notice, moving so desperately that he hits all the right places without even trying. With a sob, she squeezes tight around his fingers and rides out her high while clinging to Harry for dear life.
Her head falls to his shoulder, face hiding behind her hair and in his neck.
“Good?” he asks, voice raspy, wiping his soaked fingers on the side of his pants.
She doesn’t say anything for a second, just breathing hard into his skin, then sobs again. Not with pleasure.
“Love?” Harry questions in worry. “What’s wrong?”
Her body starts to shake in his arms, tears mixing with the sweat on his T-shirt’s collar. He calls her name, scared out of his mind with what this could mean. Did she come here to say she couldn’t do this anymore? He didn’t let her say a thing before kissing her. He should’ve listened, should’ve waited, should’ve asked her what ‘soulmate’ meant when it couldn’t mean ‘girlfriend’.
“I’m sorry,” she hiccups, hugging him closer even though there’s not any space between their bodies.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks quietly.
“I know this is freaking you out. I just—” and then she’s sobbing again.
“Talk to me,” Harry begs.
“I love you so much, H,” he could feel the but at the end of the sentence.
“I love you too…” he swallows before asking, “Is this about the photographers? Are you upset they were around? ‘Cause we can fix that.”
She looks up at him, the tip of their noses touching. With furrowed brows and swollen eyes, she mumbles, “You gonna have them killed or somethin’?”
He’d laugh if he could. “Not really. I’ll do something, though. Whatever it is you need me to do.”
She rests her chin on his shoulder so he can’t look her in the eyes. In a whisper, she asks: “Can you freeze us in time?”
“What?”
“I’m scared we’ll lose this,” She confesses. “I’m so in love with you, Harry and I— I don’t want us to be boyfriend and girlfriend the way I’ve learned it, owing each other and the world explanations and parts of ourselves. I want us to choose to love each other every day because we can’t help but do so — a forever that looks like the way you offered me a drink, the way you flew out to meet me after our fight and promised we’d do better, the way you kissed me today; like it’s not simple but it’s easy. ”
Harry stays silent for a while.
“I’m sorry if it makes no sense,” her voice shakes. “I think I’m just desperate not to lose myself in you while getting to keep you and— I don’t know, it doesn’t sound as reasonable as I thought it would.”
He whispers her name.
“Yeah?”
“Being with you forever, one day at a time, sounds reasonable to me.”
------------------------------------------
“Do you want to marry me?”
“What?”
“Marry me, love,” he laughs softly. “Do you want to?”
She’s silent, tear-filled eyes staring up at him.
“You know how I knew it was time?” Harry asks, still in a low voice like they’re somewhere sacred. Home. “We built a family out of a promise we didn’t even have to make. A while ago, even before Jamie, you told me we shouldn't owe each other, and it’s true. I won’t ever ask you for anything you haven’t already given me, because that’s how you love me too. But I’ll ask for this because it’s ours and I know it’ll stay this way.”
They’re both crying, and her shaking hands try to wipe away his tears.
“I want to,” She says.
That sudden bright smile takes over her face like it did both years and minutes ago. It doesn’t take him by surprise anymore.
#FineLineFicChallenge#harry styles#fine line#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#hsogolden
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Fireworks in Goodneighbor
Here's my gift for @falloutfandomeventhub’s #Celebradiation2020, written for @bi-mirandalawson! This scene takes place immediately after Fallout 4′s Dangerous Minds quest. It features dialogue between Hancock and Deacon, with cameos by Magnolia and Nick. There’s also a hint at a Sole Survivor femslash pairing, although the exact pairing is not specified. Enjoy!
It was the fireworks that woke him from his psychedelic slumber. At first he thought the fireworks were in his head—a pleasant side effect of the cocktail of chems he had imbibed several hours before. But the colors, the emotions were wrong. They didn’t stir him the way they should. As he squinted, he realized the fireworks were streaming in from the boarded-up windows.
They were coming from outside, across the street. From the Memory Den. A massive power surge had temporarily lit up the entire building. The marquee lights snaked along their path in a frenzy, lights up and down the building flashed interchangeably. Sparks flew from a previously-unseen Tesla tower on the roof, showering the street below with discharged electricity.
Then as suddenly as the fireworks show began, the Memory Den grew cold and dim. Then the building illumination returned to normal, the marquee blinking its obsolete advertisement for a centuries-old vaudeville act.
What the hell is that doctor up to now? Hancock wondered.
The Mayor stumbled off of his lounger and wandered out of the Statehouse, determined to find answers. But as he stepped outside, the crossing to the Square zoomed back, suddenly seeming very far away. His head wasn’t quite right yet.
He leaned against the doorway of the Statehouse, content to idly observe the ebb and flow of nocturnal street life. Through his hazy drug-addled vision, he glimpsed a private eye with a metal arm staggering past, muttering strange phrases in a low sandpaper voice. Moments later, two women scurried past him—one of them wearing a bright blue Vault suit. Their arms interlocked, they giggled inebriated as they headed straight for the Hotel Rexford.
Heh, they’re gonna get some tonight, thought Hancock. Good for them.
Whatever had happened at the Den, the main players were already gone. Instead of pursuing the mystery any further, he headed to the Third Rail. Hancock casually saluted the bouncer then sauntered down the stairs.
From afar, Hancock spied a lone man seated at the bar, nursing a half drunken glass of scotch. Strange to find him here before happy hour, the Mayor thought.
Hancock slipped onto the empty stool beside him. Deacon popped up his sunglasses and regarded the ghoul seated next to him.
“Well hello, Mister ‘Of the People, For the People.’’’
“Hey my man. How’s my favorite secret agent?”
They exchanged a series of friendly fist bumps, then Hancock ordered his current favorite, a gin and Quantum from Whitechapel Charlie.
While he waited for the robot barkeep to mix his drink, Hancock eyed Deacon’s latest disguise. He was bald today, with a threadbare plaid shirt and a beat-up pair of old jeans. The sunglasses, which looked custom-molded to his perfectly square eyebrows and weathered features, threw off what would otherwise be a spot-on drifter impression.
“I thought you agents were all about tailored suits and tuxedos rather than that bum get-up you wear all the time. Live a little, man! Dress up! Have some pride.”
“This from the man wearing the ruffled ascot of our Founding Father—one who lacked the modesty to leave enough room for the co-Fathers to sign.”
“Exactly. Why go half-ass when you can be as fabulous as this?” Hancock gestured his arm down his body with a flourish.
Deacon laughed. “Hey, I can be fancy when I want to be. This particular mission required a little more subtlety, that’s all.”
Whitechapel Charlie set Hancock’s glass on the sticky bar top, which emitted an eerie blue glow. Hancock picked up his drink, threw his head back and downed the cocktail all in one go, then exhaled a satisfied sigh.
Deacon raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you get all fancy with the gin and Quantums? I thought you were all about ‘keepin’ it real’.” Deacon added air quotes with his fingers for added emphasis.
“I’m still keepin’ it real, man,” Hancock insisted. So what if his drink choices lately were a step up from the moonshine of his drifter days? He was Mayor of this town now, dammit. He could drink whatever the hell he wanted. Secretly though, he was annoyed that Deacon had struck a nerve.
“If you say so, Mister Mayor,” Deacon replied skeptically. He spun his glass around, then put it to his lips, slipping the last slivers of scotch into his mouth.
The ghoul let his remark slide. He bought the agent another scotch and ordered himself some vodka. Hancock wanted to find out what the hell was going on in his own town, and talking to Deacon was the fastest way to get answers.
“Hey Deac, you see anything go down at the Memory Den? I was having the most mind-blowing trip, man, ‘til all this shit starts flashin’ in my eyes. How’s a ghoul supposed to come down easy when his own town’s blowing up on him?”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Deacon cracked. “You have your blue newcomer to thank for the fireworks.”
“The Vault Dweller?”
“Yep, her and Nick Valentine. They gifted Doctor Amari some brains from the dearly departed Kellogg.”
“Kellogg’s dead? Shiiiittt.” Hancock shook his head, taking in the news. “Good. Fuckin’ bastard deserved it.”
“Amen to that, brother.” Deacon and Hancock clinked glasses, drinking to celebrate the death of the Commonwealth’s most despised mercenary.
“So they took Kellogg’s brains downstairs to do some Frankenstein shit, I take it.”
“Something like that. I wasn’t in the room where it happened... But from what I gathered, they hooked Nick to Kellogg’s grey matter, judging by how he looked afterwards. Was even talking like Kellogg for a bit.”
“Damn. Must’ve been some head trip.”
“Yeah, no kidding. I don’t know how they probed into his noggin’, but they drained the power grid while doing it. My poor Barbara even glitched out a few times.”
“Aww... You still seeing your old flame?” Hancock asked. Deacon winced, briefly regretting bringing up his dead wife.
“Yeah,” Deacon admitted finally. He sighed as he finished his second drink.
“Hey, man, it’s cool, we all got our vices,” Hancock assured, patting Deacon on the back. “But if you ask me, chems are way easier for forgetting your problems. And cheaper.” He fished out some Jet from his pocket. “Want one? On the house.”
“Nah, I’m cool,” Deacon politely declined. “That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t wanna forget all that stuff.”
“Suit yourself.” Hancock took a puff of Jet, and wiggled his head to work in the high.
Deacon continued his story. “Anyway, Irma only charged me for a quickie—I mean, I wasn’t in there that long.” Hancock chuckled as Deacon corrected himself. “Just long enough to say hi, tell her how things are going. That I miss her.”
“What a sweetheart you are. That Babs was one lucky gal to have you.”
Deacon scoffed. “Anyway, what do you care how I spend my caps? I thought you’d be happy with me building up your precious tax base.”
Hancock was taken aback. “That hurts, Deac. That really hurts. That cuts me deep.”
Hancock leaned into Deacon, jabbing a leathery hand into his own chest. “You think I’m just about the money? Don’t get me wrong—I love my money. But that ain’t what this is about.”
Deacon smirked. “Then what is it about?”
Hancock waved him off. The ghoul stared off into the distance, shaking his head in disappointment. Then he grabbed his glass and gulped down his vodka.
“I don’t know anymore, man,” Hancock said at last. “You know, a few weeks back I had to kill Finn? The lil’ shit was shakin’ down that Vault Dweller as soon as she stepped into town.”
“No big loss,” Deacon dismissed. “Never liked that asshole anyway.”
“Neither did I, but that’s not the point. The point is... I wanted Goodneighbor to be for everybody. For drifters like me, the ghouls, the gangsters, the misfits...even for lil’ shits like Finn. But then I had to turn around and kill him. And I’ve been shakin’ down people for stealing from me, or stealing from the drifters.”
Hancock threw up his hands. “What’s wrong with me? Since when did I turn into the Man?”
Deacon laughed. “Whoo, Hancock. You know what they say about power.”
“This ain’t funny, Deac. I’m telling ya, this ain’t what I signed up for. I’m seriously thinkin’ of leaving all this shit behind. What’s the use of giving everyone freedom if things ain’t truly free?”
Deacon shook his head. “I don’t have an answer for you, pal. But it sounds like you can’t make up your mind about what you want.”
“Thanks. Thanks for nothing. You’re no fuckin’ help.” Deacon laughed some more as Hancock grunted in frustration.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important, boys.”
Magnolia had strolled into the bar unseen. She leaned in between Hancock and Deacon and flashed the pair a radiant smile.
“Not at all, doll.” Hancock pecked Magnolia on the cheek, then she turned around and kissed Deacon’s cheek. “Showtime already?” Hancock asked.
“It sure is,” she winked. “Same time as always.” She went to the stage to prepare for her set.
“Well, that’s my cue to go,” Deacon sighed, standing up. “I got a feeling things are gonna get busy soon at HQ.” He dropped a few caps as a courtesy tip, ignoring Whitechapel Charlie’s preprogrammed grumblings.
Hancock stood up too. “You’re not gonna stay for the show?”
Deacon shook his head. “Nah. She’s lovely, but you know there’s only one synth for me... No offense, Mags,” Deacon added, acknowledging Magnolia out of courtesy.
“None taken, hon,” Magnolia replied. “You stay safe helping my friends, you hear?” She adjusted her microphone and began her first song.
I see you lookin’ ‘round the corner
Come on inside and pull up a chair
No need to feel like a stranger
Cause we're all a little strange in here.
“Okay, bro, see ya later,” Hancock said, fist bumping Deacon as a goodbye. “You know you and your buddies can lay low here anytime. Even if all ya do is give me shit.”
“Appreciate it, dude.” Deacon grabbed Hancock’s forearm and whispered a warning into his ear. “Hey, man, watch out for the Institute.”
Hancock scoffed. “Pssht. The Institute can’t fuck with us, man. Goodneighbor’ll never stand for their shit.”
“I hope so, man. Just don’t underestimate them. They’re watching.”
As Deacon made his exit, he glanced back at the ghoul, concerned for his friend and what he feared was coming. Guess I better introduce myself to this Vault Dweller, he thought. Or better yet, have her come to me.
Pondering what Deacon said, Hancock sat back down in his stool and lit a cigarette. He exhaled a plume of smoke and reveled in the sound of Magnolia’s voice filling the room.
Have you got a history that needs erasing?
Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes?
A broken down dream you're tired of chasing
Oh, well I'm just the girl to make you forget.
#Celebradiation2020#Celebradiation#Fallout 4#Fallout#fanfiction#fanfic#Hancock#Deacon#Magnolia#Nick Valentine#F!SS#sole survivor#@bi-mirandalawson#falloutfandomeventhub
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