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avastrasposts · 5 months

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Big Sky Country - ch. 2

Part two of Cowboy!Frankie and the OFC AIsling meeting as Frankie comes to New York to sort out things with his "maybe ex-girlfriend."

Mature, angsty, some fluff, dark themes.

Series Master List

Warnings contain spoilers and can be found here.

Aisling watched Frankie answer his phone from the corner of her eye as she stacked the clean glasses. Maybe it’s because she’d spent a few minutes talking to him, watching his face change from troubled to smiling, but the way his eyebrows bunched together as he looked at the screen for several long seconds, she knew the call brought him back to the mood he’d walked into the bar with. He pressed the phone to his cheek, eyes hidden under the peak of his cap, as he answered. A few words were exchanged, his shoulders crept up towards his ears, and then he slid off the stool and bent down to grab his duffel bag. He walked to the door without a look back, but at the last moment, he turned and caught Aisling’s eyes, lifting his chin in a small nod goodbye as he pushed the door open with his back. She gave him a quick wave and a smile, before the door closed behind him.

As her shift ended, she grabbed the tray of dirty glasses and brought it to the back of the bar, loading the dishwasher. It roared to life, the old machine rumbling behind her as she got her bag and jacket. It wasn’t a long walk back to her small apartment, stopping at the bodega for a sandwich, before she could finally close the door on the day. Her place was small, a sublet, and not really her own. A room and a bathroom and nothing else, the partially obstructed view of the river the only forgiving feature. It’s also what’s going to force her to move sometime soon, the land value far too great to ignore, and another piece of Brooklyn would transform into luxury condos while people like her moved further out.

People like her. And Frankie. Her mind turned back to the quiet man in the bar, something about him felt familiar. She thinks it’s the way he turned up in New York with only a duffel bag, his life packed into it. She could easily fit the things she cared about into a duffel bag and just leave. If she had somewhere to leave too. Would she have his courage to pick up and travel two days across the country to a new city? She wasn’t sure. This was her city, Brooklyn was where she was born and raised. She’d stayed even when her parents broke up and her mother found a new man in a Long Island suburb that Aisling hated. Both the man and the suburb. She’d stayed with her father in a tiny one bedroom apartment close to the river in Red Hook rather than move out to the big house with a pool.

When her father died, her senior year in high school, she lost her family, and Brooklyn became family instead as she moved from one small semi-legal rental to another. She made some sort of life working in the endless bars, clubs and restaurants, and a new family was formed, made up of the friends who, like her, worked long hours, surviving on tips and bodega sandwiches. Her small world in Brooklyn became a place where people like her looked out for their own. And Frankie felt like one of their own.

She hoped he’d return to the bar, hoped he’d find a job and stay around. He intrigued her, as well as tugged at a deep hidden physical attraction, his soft eyes, broad shoulders and large hands. She could easily imagine how it would feel to have him closer, to have him settle his weight on top of her as she wrapped her arms around those solid shoulders. She didn’t easily fall for anyone, but she didn’t mind finding temporary release with someone and Frankie had all the attributes she craved. She fell back in bed, thinking about the way he’d rubbed his hand over his soft looking curls, the strain of the jeans around his thighs as he picked up the duffel bag, and it made her legs clench together, seeking relief.

In another part of Greenpoint, Frankie was buzzed in through the door of a much nicer building. Eva opened the door as he reached third floor, and let him in.

“You look like shit, Frankie,” she said by way of greeting as he dropped his bag on the floor, “And you smell like the bus.”

“Nice to see you too,” he replied, pulling off his cap and she presented her cheek for him to kiss.

“Take a shower, we can talk after dinner, I bought Korean.”

She left him standing in the small hallway as she disappeared into the kitchen, “I put out a clean towel for you.”

With a sigh he zipped open his bag on the floor, digging out his shower gel and a clean change of clothes. He didn’t know if he’d be sleeping on the couch or not so he didn't take any chances, leaving his bag on the floor of the hallway until he knew where his bed was tonight.

His hair was still damp from the shower when he pushed back the empty take out container and slumped back on the couch a little bit later.

“I thought we’d talk about it,” he said, fighting to keep his voice quiet and calm, “I know timing is bad, but we should at least talk through the options.”

“We can’t raise a baby here, it’s barely big enough for one person, Frankie,” Eva said, waving her hand around the apartment. “And I can’t afford a bigger place in Greenpoint and you’re not even working.”

“I have a job. In Montana. And that could be an option too, I could get a job on a ranch closer to town, we’d be able to afford a much bigger place out there.” He leaned forward, reaching for her hands, needing her to understand that he was serious about this, “I know it won’t be easy, but this is our baby, we can make it work for her, or him.”

“So you want to get me back to that hell hole? I let you trap me there once before, now you want me to go back with a baby!” Eva stood up, ignoring the way he reached for her, his pleading voice as she paced the living room, “I don’t know how you can stand living there, all alone. I would never raise a child there, they’d be a fucking psycho, all isolated, and, I’m sorry Frankie, but surrounded by fucking hillbillies”

“So then we stay here, we can move a bit further out, I’ll find work and we can afford a bigger place. I can fix it up, you know I can, make it the way you want it,” he turned so that he could keep looking at her as she continued her pacing, “It doesn’t have to be Montana, we can move wherever you want, but we can make this work for the baby.”

“You’re so fucking delusional, Francisco,” she stopped in front of him, “we’re not even together any more, we broke up, remember? What makes you think we should raise a child together?”

“Because we were good once, Eva, it was good, wasn’t it? I know I got you to move to Montana and you weren’t happy there, but we could be happy again, maybe here in New York and the baby-”

“You hate New York, Frankie, you couldn’t even stand two months here, nothing’s changed because of the baby.” Her face softened slightly as she shook her head, “You still have your problems, your brain still won’t shut up here, the baby will only make that worse.”

“The baby won’t make it worse,” Frankie protested, “I know I can’t live here, right in the middle of it, but if we move to a quiet area, just a bit further out, then I’d be fine, I know it.” He wasn’t sure at all, but it was all he had, the only alternative to Montana.

She chewed her lip and looked out through the window, the late night city noises drifting in.

“Cariño,” he said, his voice soft now, as he stood up and moved closer to her, “We were good, before Montana, we were even happy there right? In the beginning?” He carefully took her hand in his, stroking his thumb across the soft skin, “we can still be good together.”

Eva turned towards him, his soft brown eyes looking down at her as his fingers wrapped around her hand, “I still love you,” he lied and she sighed, shaking her head.

“I don’t know, Frankie,” she mumbled and she didn't say ‘I love you’ back.

The unease settled in the pit of his stomach, the lie he told her, her non-response. Maybe he should’ve been relieved, if she didn’t love him then maybe his lie meant less. But he wanted to love her, wanted her to love him back, so that this child could be a second chance for them, another new start.

She let him sleep in her bed at least, let him crawl between the sheets and curl his body around hers. But when he reached for her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, she feigned sleep. Frankie soon rolled over onto his back. He found himself staring at the ceiling while his ‘maybe girlfriend’ faked sleep next to him. As the city continued to move and live outside the bedroom window, she drifted into actual sleep and he fought the urge to leave, his feet itching. But his body could only fight sleep for so long, and in the early hours of the morning, when the traffic dropped to a minimum by Greenpoint standards, he drifted into an uneasy rest.

When he woke up, Eva had already left, the only message a key on the kitchen counter. His body itched in a way it hadn’t since he left Florida, and it drove him out of the apartment. When he walked he could at least focus on just keeping control over his surroundings. He just needed to assess the situation in front of him, and then leave it behind as his long legs moved him past it and onwards. The compass in his head took him around Greenpoint in a big circle, it took several hours and by the time he drew close to the river again his feet were aching, not used to walking for hours on the hard streets.

He found himself on the same street as yesterday, the sign of the bar just a bit further down, and he tried to tell himself it was a coincidence. But he knew his mind had been dwelling too much on the bartender.

Aisling, with the red hair and creamy skin under her shirt, with a smile just for him.

He knew it was ridiculous, because it’s her job, but the way she saw him, read him, and knew what he was when he walked in, it made him feel a connection. And now that draws him back to the bar. Maybe he was just such a pathetic man that he needed to be seen by a pretty woman, wanting her attention, for her to notice him. He scolded himself, took longer strides and kept his head down as he neared the bar.

He wanted to walk past it, determined to go to the apartment, to talk to Eva again. But then he glanced in. And she was behind the bar, smiling at a couple as she put down two beers on the counter in front of them. The woman said something and Aisling laughed, her nose wrinkling as her shoulders shook with giggles.

He stopped, caught in the way she squinted her eyes when she giggled, disappearing as she closed them and leaned forward, holding onto the bar for support as she laughed with her whole body. He swallowed, tried to move his feet again, but she straightened up and pushed her hand through her hair, her cheeks puffing out as she drew a deep breath to control her giggles. She still smiled brightly as she glanced out through the window, maybe sensing his eyes on her. And he tried to move again, but his body only obeyed hers. She lifted her hand in a wave, and before he knew it, he waved back at her as beckoned him inside.

“Hi Frankie,” she called to him as he stepped through the door, as if he’s a regular, someone who belongs. She’s still smiling at him, only looking away briefly to nod at the couple who’ve taken their beers further into the bar.

“Come in, how’s your day?” Aisling asked as he walked over to the same stool as yesterday, the one where he can have a corner behind him.

“It’s alright,” Frankie replied, her smile impossible to not match, and he felt himself lighten as she looked at him, “Been exploring around Greenpoint a bit.”

“Do you like it?” she asked, leaning her hip against the counter. The bar was almost empty, early afternoon and she liked his company. The way he smiled, dark eyes softening as his face crinkled, the deep dimple prominent on his right cheek.

“Honestly?” he replied, “Not at all, I fucking hate the city.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile as he chuckled at her expression, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline at his candid confession.

“What’s wrong with New York? It’s the greatest city in the world.”

“I’m sure it is, but it’s not for me,” he shook his head, “I used to be able to handle cities but now…the noise, it just grates on my ears, makes my skin itch.”

“Montana is different I guess,” she said and he knew he was reading too much into her remembering where he’d come from.

“Yeah, it’s very different. I’m not from there, but I moved out after I left the army, needed a change of scenery,” he said, truncating his story, “And the life out there, it’s easier, at least for me.”

“How so?” she asked, her gaze held on to him when he tried to duck his head, and all he could do was shrug, maintaining contact with her green eyes.

“It’s open, quiet, no crowds, no traffic, just open sky and land going on for miles.”

“I don’t know if I’d feel relieved or scared,” she smiled, “I’ve never really left New York. I can’t imagine being somewhere so open,” she leaned closer to him, tapping her finger on his phone that he’d placed on the bar, “Do you have pictures? I’d love to see it.”

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he said, unlocking it and opening his photo folder, “I don’t take a lot of photos but sometimes the sky is just really beautiful, but the photos never do it justice.”

He held up his phone, showing her a picture of his cabin, the mountains dark with the sky burning in bright pinks and orange streaks behind them.

“I took this a week ago, just at sunset,” he said as she took the phone from him, her eyes widening.

“Wow, that’s incredible,” she said, her voice reverent as she studied the photo. The small log cabin drew her in, smoke coming from the chimney, a pick-up truck parked in front and a pile of cut wood next to a chopping block. The scene was domestic, as if Frankie had just stuck the ax to the block and stepped back to snap a picture of the burning sky. It looked like a proper home, like homemade stew on the stove and lazy evenings in the hammock on the porch. She could see him there, kicking the hammock into a swing with one long leg on the porch while the evening closed in.

“Is this your place?” Aisling asked him and he nodded in response.

“Yeah, I work on a ranch and the cabin comes with the job, it’s kinda stuck on the outskirts, the prairie is in front, here,” he swiped his finger across the screen and showed her a second photo, “That’s the view from the porch, just open land.”

She looked at all the space in the photo, just the darkening sky, a few low shrubs and the horizon.

“It’s endless, so much…air,” she whispered and she didn’t know why, it was like seeing where he was from, what a contrast it was, made her want to protect him in this cramped world they’re in now. Keep her voice low so as not to grate on his ears like the rest of the city.

“It makes me feel unrestricted,” Frankie said in a low voice that matched hers, studying her face as she studied the details of the photo. His fingers twitched, he almost reached up and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, it’d fallen over her cheek and she blew a puff of air to shift it, “Makes my mind go quiet and it makes me calm, it’s easier for me to live with myself out there.”

She looked back up at him, their eyes meeting, and he bit his tongue. He’d spilled more than he intended, exposed himself to her, but she just gave him a soft smile.

“So what are you doing here, Frankie? It’s all cramped and noisy, no place for a cowboy.”

He shrugged, “I don’t know to be honest, just looking for a new start maybe,” he lied.

He should tell her about Eva, tell her he has a ‘maybe girlfriend’ that he’s trying to work things out with for the sake of a mistake that they both made and is now waiting to be born. But he doesn’t, he tells himself Aising wouldn’t be interested in his messy personal life, but he knows that’s another lie, she would listen to him.

“I just thought maybe I could make some more money here, go back to Montana and maybe buy my own place,” he shrugged again and she smiled at his plans.

“That sounds like a plan worth going for,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at her colleague who’d just walked in behind the bar, “If you ever go back, let me know, I wanna come visit and see all that open sky.”

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, counting his third lie in just as many minutes.

Aisling thumbed behind her, “My shift is over now, and I know the best place for bodega sandwiches, if you’re hungry?”

Frankie should say no, he knows he should say no and go back to the apartment, maybe Eva is home already. But instead his head nodded, and he heard himself say ‘yeah, that’d be great’.

Aisling gave him a smile that turned his insides warm, and told him she’d be out in a couple of minutes.

She met him by the door to the bar, watching him tug at his cap and give her a small smile as she hooked her arm into his, pulling him down the street.

“Tell me more about Montana, what’s it like to work on a ranch?” she asked, just to get him to talk, to listen to that deep voice of his. He’d been close to her ear at the bar when he told her about the photos, and the timbre of his voice had sent shivers down her spine. Now she held her hand around his solid arm, the warmth of it seeping into her fingertips, as he chuckled and shrugged.

He said there wasn’t much to tell but then kept her entertained all the way to the bodega with a story about how he helped his favorite mare foal out on one of the trails when she went into labor too early.

Aisling glanced up at him as he went deeper into the details, she’d asked, and his brown eyes were suddenly more alive than she’d seen them in the bar, his free hand waving around as he described the newborn’s unsteady gait.

“I didn’t think the foal would make it, but he was fine, just took a bit longer to get to his feet once I’d dried him off properly.”

He smiled down at her, the pride evident in his voice, and before she knew what made her do it, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. He froze for a second, and she panicked, pulling away. But then his hand came up and wrapped around the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her long hair. And he pulled her with him, his back against a wall, making her take a step closer, as he pressed his mouth to hers.

For a few seconds she didn't know what to do, his lips were warm and soft, his mouth slightly open and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. But then he shifted, his arm circled her waist, pulled her closer to his solid body, the buttons of the suede jacket dug into her stomach, and she opened her mouth to him, searching for his tongue. With low groans, they had a first taste, teeth clashing as he ran his tongue along hers. She thought he tasted of burnt coffee and toothpaste but it didn’t really matter because above all else, he kissed her like he was drowning, curling his tall frame around her as he licked into her mouth, fingers digging into the back of her head and heat shot through her body.

It was like his brain had shut down, her lips on his, her body against his, and he moved before he could think. Pulling her with him, closer, getting her closer to his mouth so that he could feel more of her, more of that soft mouth against his rough lips. And she moved with him, letting him hold her tight as she opened her mouth and tasted him. He thought she tasted of grapefruit juice and gum and her hand on his arm clenched, anchored him to her when he sucked on her bottom lip. His head should be buzzing, guilt should be shouting at him, but it shut up, silence filled the windings of his brain as her scent filled his nose and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She could keep on kissing him, his mouth addictive in the way it felt on hers. But she wanted him to come with her, take him back to her apartment that was just around the corner and make him put that soft mouth on all of her skin. She can feel herself tingling at the thought of having more. So she pulled back a little, reluctantly leaving his lips and opening her eyes to find him already looking at her with a confused expression.

“That was nice,” she mumbled, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth with a smile, relishing the feel of his soft beard under her lips.

He nodded, but his eyebrows were pulled together in a look she couldn't quite place, as he caressed the back of her head, his fingers running through her hair.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said and when she shook her head in confusion he let go of her.

“I kissed you, Frankie, it’s fine, I wanted you to kiss me.”

“No, it’s not that, I’m…just sorry,” he said, moving around her so that she was against the wall, and he could start walking away, but her hand was still on his arm.

And with that he left, long legs quickly carrying him away, almost running, leaving her with kiss swollen lips on the sidewalk like a fool.

“Frankie…?” she asked, the sting of rejection starting to burn inside her chest as he dipped his head, looking at his stupid cowboy boots.

“I’m sorry, the kiss was great, you’re great…I…I,” he floundered, shifting his eyes around the street but not at her, “I’ve got to go, I’ve got to be somewhere.”

Aisling cursed him under her breath, ducking into the bodega next door with her cheeks burning, anger began to bubble up in her chest. By the time she got back to the apartment she was seething.

Fine, whatever, he wasn’t even that cute anyway, she thought to herself, tossed her jacket on the chair and flopped down on the bed, just some random guy who was alright at kissing.

She stared at the ceiling, finding the crack that looked like a cartoon mouse and glared at it. Who was she trying to fool? The kiss was incredible, she could still feel the gentle scratch of his mustache on her top lip and how damp he made her panties. And then he just ducked out and left her turned on and frustrated.

Fuck Frankie Morales.

She rolled over in her bed and buried her face in the pillow, groaning in frustration, giving it a punch for good measure. His stupid face didn’t even flinch, just smiled at her with that dimple deep in his cheek, soft brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. The phantom grip of his arm around her waist, pulling her closer against his chest, was still there. She could feel the way he tugged her in, he’d kissed her back and pulled her in. With a groan she shoved her hand down between her legs, just to get this fucking man out of her head. It wasn’t hard to imagine what his solid body would feel like over her, pressing her down into the mattress and with a whine she bucked her hips. The release came embarrassingly fast, leaving her panting on the bed, but still pissed at Frankie fucking Morales and his stupid curls.

Fuck!

Frankie stalked towards the apartment, an all too familiar guilt creeping through his body. The same feeling he always got when he’d made a mistake, let someone down. He’d never cheated on a girlfriend before, never been that guy. But the feeling was the same as all the other times he’d failed himself and those around him, guilt gnawing and making him recount all the other times he’d fucked up.

His feet itched, and that all too familiar pull for a line of white powder lodged itself in the back of his head. He knew, rationally, it would only make him feel worse, make the guilt all that much worse. But the noise of the city assaulted his senses, worse now that he’d found a temporary reprieve in a kiss with a woman who was almost a stranger to him.

Fuck.

He stopped and turned around, made it five steps back towards where he’d left Aisling, and then he stopped again. Turned back towards the apartment where Eva should be waiting.

Fuck!

He felt the pull between the two, one type of man would go back to Eva, starting a new life with the mother of his unborn child. Another type of man would go back to Aisling and lose himself in her warm body.

With a deep groan he sank down on the stoop of a brownstone, his head in his hands. He could only see the feet of the people walking past him, no one slowing down or stopping to ask why a grown man was groaning with his hands clasped over his capped head. No one gave a fuck.

No one gives a fuck about you, Francisco.

With a deep sigh he pulled his phone from the pocket of his jacket and dialed the one person he knew would at least try to help him.

“Hey Herb,” he said as his sponsor picked up.

…

“Yeah, it’s me.”

…

“No, New York is kicking my fucking ass, it’s not good.”

…

By the time he pulled himself up from the stoop, his butt was numb and his legs stiff. But he felt calmer, Herb’s sage, cut the bullshit, advice always seemed to get him off the ledge at least. The rest he had to do himself.

He turned his back on Aisling, pushed her to the back of his mind, and walked with determination towards the apartment. He had a mission to complete, he was here to take responsibility for something he’d done, and he was not about to involve another person in that mess.

He used his key to open the apartment door when he got back, and found Eva flat on her back on the couch with a heat pack over her belly.

“You alright?” he asked her, his eyebrows pulling together in concern as he saw her pale and drawn face.

“Food poisoning,” she mumbled, “I think.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and crouched down next to her, putting his hand on her clammy forehead.

“Can I get you something? Pain meds? Pepto?” he asked, but she shook her head.

“I already took some, I can take more in two hours.”

“Some tea maybe? And I’ll sort dinner, don’t worry about it,” he gave her cheek a small caress but she turned her head away from his hand, towards the couch.

“No, just let me sleep, I’ll be better in the morning,” she muttered, closing her eyes.

“Alright, but I’ll make some Chicken Alfredo, your favorite, just let me know if you want some,” he stood up and pulled his jacket back on, “I’ll go get some groceries, just message me if you need anything, ok?”

Eva didn’t respond, just turned further into the couch and Frankie left. Under the harsh overhead light of the local convenience store he scanned the shelves for saltines, the yellow gatorade and extra ibuprofen, just in case.

She seemed to be sleeping when he returned to the apartment, and he cooked the chicken, trying to keep the noise down. As he sat down on the couch next to her, she stirred and woke up.

“Do you feel like some food?” he asked but she shook her head, “Here, have some crackers, then. It’ll make you feel better,” he held out the packet to her as she yawned. She shrugged and accepted it and he went back to his meal. He ate in silence, one of the reality shows she loved rolling on the tv, and after he’d cleaned up, he passed her another ibuprofen and the bottle of gatorade. She took it without a word and then curled back up, her head away from Frankie.

He leaned back against the couch and pulled off his cap, running a hand through his hair as he tossed it on to the coffee table. There was a memory in his head, about how it used to be when she was sick or had cramps. She’d curl up against him, her head in his lap while he stroked her hair, or gently rubbed her back. Now, not even her feet touched him, and she’d pulled the blanket so high up over her shoulders that he couldn’t even see her face. They had a long way to go, but he won’t bring that up tonight while she’s sick.

“I’m going to bed,” she said, pushing off the blanket and standing up, leaving him sitting on the couch without a backwards glance.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” he asked and she shrugged as she left the room.

“Do whatever you want, Frankie.”

She disappeared into the bedroom, and although she didn’t close the door, she only left a crack open. So he stayed on the couch, kicking off his boots and stripping out of his jeans before he pulled the blanket over himself.

But sleep didn’t want to find him tonight either. The street lights cast strange patterns on the walls and he felt his heart rate pick up as sirens howled past on the street below. He twisted his tall body, too tall for the couch, and buried his head in the pillow. Aisling’s face floated up into his mind, smiling up at him, as she leaned in for a kiss. Frankie growled under his breath as the memory of her lips assaulted his restless mind, the way she felt pressed against him, soft lips, soft hair, soft body.

Fuck.

He moaned as his cock twitched, pressed against the couch beneath him, demanding attention. Shoving away the memory of her, he twisted again, picturing Eva under him instead, how she’d felt when they shared a bed back in Montana. But when he closed his eyes again, Aisling’s face was the one he saw, pink mouth open, head thrown back, moaning his name as he fucked himself deep into her.

Fuck!

He twisted again, his cock hard now, pressed against the cotton of his boxers and he pushed his palm against it, relieving some of the tension. It felt too good and he gripped it tighter through the fabric, tugging. Just needed to get this out of his system, get some release, he lied to himself. Pushing down his boxers he gripped his weeping cock with his bare hand, hissing through clenched teeth at the first slow, dry, stroke.

He couldn’t help it, he shouldn’t, but Aisling’s face floated in his mind as he jerked himself off, the image of her smooth skin as she reached up, the feel of her soft breasts against his chest this afternoon, her taste. He groaned into the palm over his mouth as thick ropes of cum splash onto his belly, coating his hand. With a sigh he cleaned himself up, shoving down the guilt that crept up his throat again, listening to Eva’s soft snores from the bedroom.

He twisted again, landing on his side, squeezing his eyes shut. Aisling’s face floated up in his mind and he sighed and accepted it. He’d deal with it in the morning.

Chapter 3

tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @lady-bess @missladym1981 @peppermintfury

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

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plantinghobbies · 1 year

Text

Growing Pains

One: On the Day That I Met You

Long time reader, first time poster. This is my first time writing, well almost anything, especially a chaptered fic. The biggest thanks to @solipsisticno1 for being the best beta this newbie could ask for. Would love to hear what you think, thanks for reading!

He clocks her when he first walks in, partially because she’s sat reading a book - in a bar, who does that - but mainly because of what she’s eating – a caprese salad. The menu here has basically been sustaining him since he flew in, which is how he is certain that what she’s eating is not on it. Up until now, the proximity to the studio has largely made up for the lackluster food options. But the sight of fresh produce in this mecca of fried food has him gravitating toward the open stool next to her like a water-starved man to a desert mirage.

While Matty had initially given Jack shit for relocating to a place he’d never heard of – one that seemed diametrically opposed to the big cities that had soundtracked and marked their friendship up until now - he was starting to see Asheville’s appeal. It definitely didn’t have the physical anonymity that London or New York had, that feeling that you could live there your whole life and never even come close to seeing all it had to offer. On the other hand, Matty is pretty sure that he’s covered every inch of this town, walking to clear his head in between writing sessions and dicking around in the studio. He can navigate from his rental to the studio downtown already without Google Maps. Where this kind of familiarity used to bore him, he now finds comfort in it instead. It might be the only thing around him these days that feels impervious to change.

He settles on the bar stool and glances around, still not quite used to the visual onslaught that greets him, even after three weeks. The walls of the otherwise brightly lit bar are absolutely littered from floor to ceiling with signs. And not the street and beer signs that he’s come to associate with American pubs. Instead, aggressively inspirational sayings and pseudo-biblical quotes scream at him from every direction in a variety of sizes and fonts. He can’t tell if it’s ironic or not. He hasn’t wanted to ask for fear of offending someone, an instinct he pats himself on the back for as a sign of significant maturity.

After the bartender leaves with his order, he glances over at her and her mystery salad, drumming his hands on the table as he takes her in. Short, dark hair frames her face and she brings her hand up to bite at her nail, a habit that he can tell from her hand she does often. She looks to be slightly younger than him and for a second, Matty wonders if she’s a fan. That may just be a tiny bit of wishful thinking on his part – he hasn’t been recognized once since he got here and if he’d never admit it but it’s starting to grate on him. He tries to tell himself it’s because he loves the connection he has with his fans, has missed it during their hiatus. But if he’s honest, it’s picking at a worry that he has in the back of his mind, that it’s the first indication of a slide into irrelevance that he’s been bracing himself for since he first heard a crowd roaring for him and his band. And each day that goes by without an impassioned interaction on the sidewalk or request for a selfie in the grocery store, the worry grows bigger.

When her gaze shifts from her book to the clock on the wall, he realizes he’s been staring and averts his eyes quickly in a way that he hopes is not obvious. He briefly considers getting his food to go, shuffling back to the studio or his house to find something to distract from his current thoughts. But he forces “for here” out when he orders his food, knowing that all that awaits him at home is Internet rabbit holes and more wanking than is probably healthy.

He’s starting to envy the book and her foresight to bring it as the noise around him is overtaken by the noise in his head. He’s trying to get better at being alone with his own thoughts, which is fucking hard when your mind resembles the inside of a tornado, disconnected thoughts spiraling around each other like debris, forever circling the calm of the eye but never reaching it. Jesus, he’s so sick of his own thoughts at this point. He makes it a heroic - by his standards - amount of time before the thoughts in his mind force their way out of his mouth.

“Bloody hell, what is with these signs?!” He mutters.

Tess hadn’t really been paying attention to the guy next to her, appearing intentionally focused on the thriller she was reading to ward off conversation from anyone she might know. It’d been a tough day at work and she needed time to decompress before her chit-chatty brother realized she was there. When she hears his comment though, she can’t help the snort that escapes her. Real ladylike Tess. Turning to her right, she can tell from the way he sits up straighter as their gaze's meet that he relishes getting a reaction, even if it’s from a complete stranger.

“You know, my brother owns this place and he might not take kindly to that question” she says, expecting embarrassment from him but getting only a smirk back.

“Aaah well that explains your access to off-menu items” he says, nodding to her salad. “I’ve been coming here for weeks and wasn’t sure if they even had a vegetable in the place.”

“Exclusive for VIPs only.”

“Good to know, had a hunch you were special” he says with a wink, enjoying the slight tinge of pink it brings to her cheeks. “Anyway, I’ve been dying to ask someone about these” he gestures up at the wall “for ages but didn’t want to put my foot in it. Which I obviously just did anyway.” Brown eyes stare back at her, wide-eyed with curiosity and childlike impatience that would be unattractive on another man his age - she’s guessing mid-thirties, maybe forty - but on him seems almost endearing.

When she doesn’t respond, he prods her. “Well? What’s the story? Is it a gag? I know you Americans love to live, laugh, love and all that but even you have to admit this is a bit much.”

The words are tumbling out of her mouth before she has a chance to consider the ramifications of prolonging the conversation, which she had been actively avoiding in the first place. “Wait, nobody’s told you?”

He shakes his head slowly, warily. She’s got him, can’t help herself. “Oook, well..” she hesitates, glancing down at her own food “you know what, another time, don’t want to ruin your dinner.”

“No, no go ahead, it hasn’t even arrived yet” large hands hovering over the empty place setting in front of him.

Looking over her shoulder and leaning into him for dramatic effect, she whispers “Well, it’s not something we like to talk about, been one too many true crime junkies coming through asking questions,” she pauses, eyes trailing over his upper body “but you don’t seem like the type. You seem trustworthy.” He looks thrilled with this absolutely unfounded vote of confidence in his character.

“So, the previous owner, Marge, she was this real battle ax. Didn’t take shit from anyone. Her husband – I forget his name - had run out years before with the next-door neighbor, leaving her alone with their daughter and this bar. When he left, people said he took the last shred of love that she had left. Except when it came to her little girl. You know that saying they use on the news when someone dies tragically, that they ‘lit up a room’? Well, that was Lauren. She was a sweetheart, her and my brother actually dated for years. Until…” the shudder is a little over the top but Tess has always fashioned herself a great story teller.

Her silence is punctuated only by the slight skid of wood across the floor, his body unconsciously leaning forward and taking the bar stool under him with it as he almost whispers “Until what?”

“Until she was murdered…here” Glancing away, she hears him take in a stilted breath.

“Here? Here as in Asheville?” He blurts out, voice thick with shock.

“Here as in at this bar” Her knuckles rap agains the wood with every word and he jumps back as if it’s on fire.

“Anyway, Lauren – the daughter - she loved these things” Tess gestures to the walls around them “so every year on the anniversary of her death, Marge bought a new one and put it on the wall. When she died last year and my brother bought the place, it felt wrong to take it down. Like removing a shrine or a cemetery or something, you know?”

He nods slowly, still stuck on what she had said before. “Holy shit, that’s mad!” His eyes gravitate toward the worn wood even as the rest of his body instinctually leans away from it - as if the misfortune that occurred on it was contagious.

“Did they ever catch who did it?” he’s aware of how breathy his voice sounds, that he’s just being nosy now.

“No, but the police think whoever it is was likely a regular. Maybe still is, honestly” her eyes flit around them, sizing up the bodies as if they’ll give themselves away.

“Jesus, really?!”

Tess’s gaze comes back to him, assessing him more closely than she had before. She couldn’t ignore his conventional good looks, with a lithe frame that hinted at toned muscles just below and a riotous mop of untamed dark curls on his head. The words cute and sexy float to the front of her mind. Six packs and success didn’t do much for Tess, though she wouldn’t hold it against a guy. But funny, nerdy, personable? Those were like kryptonite for her, a combination that made her weak in ways that were concerning to feminism. And this guy seemed to have them in spades, she thought. Add in the accent and woof… She shook her head subtly to refocus, remembering she had left him in suspense.

For his part, her story is the most interesting thing he’s heard in a while. He’s already thinking about how to mine this for lyrics, the tragic story hidden in the walls of this charming dive bar. They’re staring at each other, and he watches with confusion as a slow, mischievous smirk replaces the grim look on her face.

“No, not really ” there’s a hint of a laugh in her voice “but that would be way cooler than the actual story.” After a quick sip of her Diet Coke, she launches into the truth about the signs, which are her sister-in-law’s doing. Well, sort of. When Sadie and Ben moved into their first house, Sadie’s mother started giving them to her for near every holiday. There was no way they were going in their home, but they didn’t want to offend Becky either. At first, they buried them in the bathroom and the garage but quickly ran out of wall space. Fed up, Sadie threw them in a box and shipped them off to the bar. It’s become a running joke among the regulars to see who can add the “best” one to the collection.

“So that whole story about Marge and Lauren and the murder, that’s all made up?” The pink in her cheeks accentuates her already enticing features as she nods. “Wow, that’s like, proper fucked up - and that’s saying something coming from me” His harsh words are softened by the hint of playfulness in his voice. She clearly enjoyed taking the piss out of him, he kinda digs it. “Is that what you all do for fun in small towns? Just lie around and think up grim tall tales to sell to handsome strangers?”

“Small town?! Come on new guy! Asheville is a city thank you very much” Tess is indignant - she’s not this town’s biggest fan but she’s from here, she’s earned the right to make fun of it. Asheville is like her fourth sibling – she mocks it mercilessly, but if someone else talks shit about it, the gloves are off.

“Please. London, where I live, is a city. Manchester, where I’m from, has 500,000 people in it. That’s a city. This….” He shrugs and trails off, gesturing around him as if it was obvious.

Exasperation is evident on her face. It’s adorable, he thinks, surprising himself with the thought.

“You clearly just haven’t availed yourself of all this city” she emphasizes the word “has to offer.”

“Is that an invitation to show me around?” The comment is punctuated by a flit of his eyes across her frame that she should find skeezy but is somehow hot. Tess’s friends often remind her that her flirtation index is not the best on a good day – girl, you wouldn’t register a guy was flirting with you if he tattooed it on his naked chest, Fern often said - and especially not when it’s been this long. Well, fuck you Fern, even I picked up on this.

But just because she knows it’s happening doesn’t mean she knows how to respond to it. His comment jolts through her, sparking excitement and then almost immediate anxiety as she struggles with what to do next. Playing it cool isn’t Tess’s list of strengths – understatement of the century, she thinks - and she’s painfully aware of the time passing by where she’s failed to cobble together even a simple response. Matty senses the shift in her mood, goes to change the subject but gets interrupted by his food being delivered.

In the end, faced with flirt or flee, Tess choose’s flee. She takes advantage of the momentary distraction his dinner provides to extricate herself, gathering her book and sliding off the stool. The abruptness of her departure doesn’t sit right with him, it’s not a reaction he’s used to these days – and yes, he’s aware of how much of an absolute wanker that makes him sound like. He doesn’t think it’s something he said but he can’t seem to be too careful these days. With a polish he typically reserves for his professional persona, he tests the waters with a final comment.

“Nice talking to you,” he says to her back as she puts on her jacket.

“Yea, you too, have a good night,” she throws over her shoulder without even a glance back. Ok, based on that he’s at least 75% sure she’s not rushing off to shit talk him on Instagram for daring to wink at her without her consent. He thought she’d been into their conversation? He misses the days when his knee jerk response to interactions wasn’t to play out how it could be perceived online. Plus, she wouldn’t have wished him a good night if she was pissed off, right?

This last thought gives him some comfort, but he’s still left with a feeling he can’t put his finger on. It follows him home and fucks with his sleep. George would tell him he was obsessing, take the piss with the rest of the guys – but they weren’t here. And that was the problem, wasn’t it. It’s then - as he’s staring at the shadows the moon casts on the ceiling of his expansive bedroom – that he’s able to put a label to the dull itch that’s plagued him since he watched her leave. Loneliness. He hadn’t been alone this long for at least twenty years, since the start of the band. And Jack helped, but their time together was spent mining his feelings – pain, happiness, uncertainty, self-loathing – for lyrics, which was his passion but also really fucking draining. His conversation with her – god, he was such a simp, he didn’t even know her name – had felt fun, carefree, familiar. Easy. He hadn’t had that since he arrived here, probably since he hugged the boys goodbye backstage after the final show. And, unsurprisingly – addict, after all – he craved the feeling again.

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x oc #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic

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daphnebishop · 8 months

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OPTION 1 anywhere outside around town

All Daphne had to go on was potential whispers really, but when it was all she had to hold onto after losing her sister then she would turn the whisper into something tangible, impossible to ignore. She had felt like the world moved on far too quickly from the loss of Veronica Bishop. Content with little evidence and no justice. That didn't sit well with Daphne and she had been so adamant on it that she left her life, her husband, friends all she had ever hoped for on a whim. She arrived in Lunar Cove, spent the night in her empty rental, and sat about pasting posters on lamp posts with a photo of Ronnie urging anyone with information about her sister's death come forward. Anyone who gave information that led to answers would be paid well. Pasting the last of her posters on a metal pole she scrubbed her palms together pilling glue as she scanned the photograph, "God I could have picked a better one." She frowned stopping the next person on the street with a bright smile, "Hey, where can I get something good to eat and a strong drink?"

OPTION 2 eclipse

She was in mourning, not dead. So she donned her lithe frame in all black, short black dress, black sheer tights, and black boots and made her way to Eclipse which for all she could tell was the only real club-like establishment in Lunar Cove unless she wanted to hit up Sinners. But she was far more into dancing than watching others dance. At least for tonight. "Oh c'mon, don't be a sore loser!" She smiled breathless as the bartender handed over a pair of scissors which she would use to cut her prize. A bet that went in her favor resulted in the burly man with long hair pulled into a pretty ponytail having to hand it over. She paid for a pair of shots, cheers, tossed it back, and freed him of the ponytail which she held up in triumphant to cheers. Some who had watched as she dislocated her shoulder to twist her body out of a bind he swore no one could free themselves of. She had won the twelve inches of unprocessed hair and he had lost the great pleasure of her company. Daphne stood up on her stool where she was pulled up onto the bar with her prize and another shot on the house. Doing a brief victory strut down the bar like it was a catwalk she wiggled her fingers out, "Help a girl down would ya?" She beamed extending her hand to them.

#death tw #murder tw #lunarcovestarter #lcstarter

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monstrous-femme · 8 months

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Tagged by @yxlenas to find some random words in some random WIPs

My words are: hell, stop, waist, hour, right

Tagging @galwithalibrarycard @flowersandstarlight @runawaymarbles @bus-ghoul and @goonflower

Your words are: loser, night, evidence, spider, and pain

From like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird

“You’re a bard and I’m coming to meet you. Outside the Met. Four hours form now,” she says, and hangs up before Eddie can say he has work, or that he’s too busy, or anything else that hasn’t happened yet but easily could happen this time. It’s a Tuesday in the middle of summer, the summer right after she graduated and hasn’t found a job yet. She leaves the city, then drives like a bat out of hell for as long as she can before finally hitting the New York traffic.

and

Nancy looks out at the water. “I guess you’re right,” she says softly. The thought of never getting to hold Robin again, never getting to kiss her like she so badly wants to, is a vice around her ribs that is only slightly loosened by the thought that she might have those things with Chrissy. “There’s no real reason not to, is there?”

from an upcoming ronance smut fic

“Sure,” Robin says. She slides ungracefully from her bar stool and joins Nancy on the dance floor, where Nancy’s arms move to around her waist (fantastic, 10/10), but her leg remains woefully far from being between Robin’s legs (reasonable but also greatly disappointing.) “I can’t believe you just struck out,” Robin says. “She looked so into you.” That’s what a chill, regular person who doesn’t have a giant crush on Nancy would say, right? Probably? Maybe?

from my abandoned Trobed fic

“Well, I was in town for my annual Bingo tournament, and we all went out to the bar to celebrate when who should I see but my good friend Jeffrey! Of course, I came over to say hi, and to my complete surprise—but delight, of course—when I asked if I could buy you a drink, you said, and I quote, ‘I suppose I can’t stop you.’ And the rest was fate, of course!” “And this is a real, legally binding marriage?” “Well of course, nothing but the best for my marriage! And the great news is, it’s legal in Colorado too, so we’ll be able to bring it home with us! Tell me, whose apartment should we live in? Full disclosure, mine’s a little messy, but it’s all part of the Craig Pelton charm, that’s what I say. Of course, there’s quite an argument to be made for your apartment too! Who knew that being married would have so many things to consider?”

and

“Troy, are you suggesting that we drive three hours to middle of nowhere Nevada because the name of the place makes you giggle?” “Well, are you suggesting we sit around for another three hours waiting for Annie to text us back when they’ve clearly all ditched us?” “Well, to get there we’d need a car.” Slow pan to the dresser, where Jeff had conveniently left the keys to his rental car before going out last night. Abed’s face curves into a smile. Across the room, Troy’s smile is identical. “Well, I guess we’re going to Gold Butte.”

#my writing #idk man idk #tag games #i don't have very many WIPs so I had to double up

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razorsadness · 3 months

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youtube

Well I got a bad liver and broken heart yeah I drunk me a river since you tore me apart And I don't have a drinking problem, 'cept when I can't get a drink And I wish you'd a-known her, we were quite a pair, She was sharp as a razor and soft as a prayer So welcome to the continuing saga, she was my better half, and I was just a dog And so here am I slumped, I've been chipped and I've been chumped on my stool So buy this fool some spirits and libations, it's these railroad station bars And all these conductors and porters, and I'm all out of quarters And this epitaph is the aftermath, yeah I choose my path Hey, come on, Kath He's a lawyer, he ain't the one for ya No, the moon ain't romantic It's intimidating as hell And some guy's trying to sell me a watch And so I'll meet you at the bottom of a bottle of bargain Scotch I got me a bottle and a dream, it's so maudlin it seems You can name your poison, go on ahead and make some noise I ain't sentimental, this ain't a purchase it's a rental, and it's purgatory And hey, what's your story, well I don't even care 'Cause I got my own double-cross to bear

And I'll see your Red Label, and I'll raise you one more And you can pour me a cab, I just can't drink no more 'Cause it don't douse the flames that are started by dames It ain't like asbestos It don't do nothing but rest us assured And substantiate the rumors that you've heard

#tom waits #bad liver and a broken heart #lyrics #this fucking song

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currentlyfckingurmom · 1 year

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Her Song Part 2

I place the Neighborhood's album, Wiped Out!, on the turntable and drop the needle. It was definitely worth investing half of my life's savings into an expensive record player that connected to the store's high-end sound system. If you're gonna own a record shop, you have to splurge on what really matters— the music.

Since it's past eight at night, there's nobody working in the store except for me. We close in half an hour, and I never make Ash or David (my other employee) stay that late because we rarely get any customers after seven. Syd fell asleep in the bean bag chairs half an hour ago, so it might as well be just me.

But I don't mind because that just means I can turn up the volume and sing along without fear of embarrassment. "Cry Baby" comes on and I turn it up as much as I can without waking Syd.

I sing the lyrics as I check the records inventory, writing down which vinyls are currently rented out, or are out of stock and need to be ordered. I get so into the music that I don't even hear the door open.

A gentle hand resting on my arm scares the shit out of me and I turn around to face the culprit, a small squeal of terror escaping my throat. I sigh in relief when I see Florence standing there and not a robber or axe murderer.

"Oh my god, don't do that," I breathe out with my hand flat against my chest, feeling my heart race in fear.

"I'm sorry," she cringed in apology. "I didn't mean to scare you. I tried calling your name a few times but it seems you were kind of in your own world," she explains.

"No- yeah, no, it's good. We're cool," I stutter, embarrassed that she saw my...performance.

We stand there in silence for a moment, though it isn't awkward; small smiles and rosy cheeks fill the void, happily keeping discomfort from seeping into the interaction.

"So, um, I was just thinking maybe I could get a cup of tea? And I really like this album that's playing so could I possibly rent it out?" Florence asks suddenly.

"Oh, of course! I'll go make your tea first and then I'll grab a vinyl for you," I tell her, already walking toward the cafe counter. "For here or to go?"

"For here. I think I'll stick around for a bit, see if you've got any other recommendations for me," she answers cheerily.

"Oh, definitely. Fair warning, though: my music taste is all over the place. I'm talking classic rock to pop to death metal to alternative to- well, you get the point, so anything I recommend will probably be totally random," I ramble, at which her intoxicating laugh fills the small shop.

I hum lowly to the music as I prepare the Yorkshire tea. Just from the one time she came into the shop, I already remember exactly how she takes it. I can feel her eyes watching me as I pour the steaming hot water, but I pretend not to.

She sits on one of the stools at the cafe bar, and I set her tea down in front of her. We exchange a smile and I say, "I'm gonna go grab that record for you. I'll be right back."

She nods and I navigate the aisles, already knowing exactly where the Neighborhood's albums are. I run my finger along the shelf before picking up the nicest Wiped Out! vinyl in the store. Technically, we have a rental copy of each album and I'm not supposed to rent out the for-sale vinyls, but I'm the boss, so who really cares if I make an exception just this once?

She hands me her card as I walk by her table and I ring up her stuff at the counter. The receipt prints out and I check to make sure she's not looking before flipping it over and writing "Dr. Feelgood by Mötley Crüe is one of my favorite rock albums :)"

I slip the receipt inside the record cover and place it down on Florence's table. Turning to walk away, I stop when she says "Wait, have a seat! I want to know more about you."

Sitting down across from her with a small smile, I ask, "Well, what would you like to know?"

"For starters, your name would be nice," she quips.

"Ah, fair game. I'm Y/N. And you?" I return the question even though I already know the answer.

She slightly squints her eyes, probably trying to figure out if I'm messing with her, before saying "Im Florence. It's nice to meet you, Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you, as well, Florence."

She smiles and slightly bites her lip, looking down at the table. "So where are you from?" she blurts out.

"Small town in Georgia," I reply. "Let me guess, based on the accent, I'm gonna say you're from...Texas. Oh yeah, definitely Texas," I joke, feigning seriousness.

"Hell yeah, I'm from Texas," she says with a fake southern drawl.

Laughing, I ask, "For real, though. Where are you from?"

"Oxford," she replies easily, returning to her normal British accent.

"Sounds posh," I mutter under my breath. She must've heard me, though, because she bursts out laughing once more and my cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so much.

Her phone vibrates and she checks it, frowning at the message on the screen. "I'm sorry, I have to go. It's been nice talking with you, Y/N. Thank you for the tea and the record."

"Anytime, Florence. The rental details are on the receipt. Have a nice night," I say as she grabs her stuff and walks toward the door.

"Goodnight," she calls before leaving the shop. I sigh and check the time, realizing I should've closed twenty minutes ago.

I rush to shut everything down and about fifteen minutes later, I'm ready to go.

Gently shaking her tiny body, I whisper, "Syd, babe, wake up. It's time to go home."

She stirs slightly and mumbles, "Don't wanna get up, Momma. I don't feel good."

"What's wrong?"

"Just don't feel good." She falls back asleep immediately and I give up, gently picking her up and carrying her out of the store.

The rest of the night is filled with a sick five-year-old and thoughts of an enthralling British woman. She seemed very upset by that text she got. I hope everything is okay.

#florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh #yelena belova

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findamericanrentals · 4 months

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Title -

Taos Vacation House Rentals By Owner

Description -

Taos Longhorn Chalet - offering all the ambiance of an upscale log cabin chalet plus the added luxury of 4 full bathrooms - two with tub shower combo's and 2 with walk in showers. A grand kitchen boastings upscale custom cabinets, upscale appliances. Surrounded by breakfast bar and stools, designed for group participation. No lonely chefs in this gourmet kitchen.

#american vacation rentals #vacation rentals #american vacation rentals by owner

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helenofsimblr · 1 year

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Stella: Once inside, we started out knocking the rums back. I mean, you come to Sulani, the rum jewel of the world, it’d be rude not to drink rum right?

Ozen: Oh absolutely! I myself have spent many a night - researching - the best combinations of rums and other beverages to produce the most palatable drinks.

Morrigan: Yes you have! You must be a Professor of Rum by now! In fact, I’m surprised you can even become intoxicated given your obvious tolerance and overindulgence.

Ozen: Everything in moderation sister! Even moderation in moderation.

Morrigan: Now do you understand why he vexes me so?

Stella: I do indeed. However, Ozen can only be himself much as you can only be yourself Morrigan. It is your differences that cause your strengths to complement that much more.

Morrigan: Yes… well… I suppose he is quite the, uh, “people's man.” He does have that going for him.

Stella: He does. So, Maisie and I were getting absolutely wasted in the bar.

****

Maisie *slurred*: Ssstella… I shrink, I’m… merry drunk!

Stella *slurred*: Me tooooo! Woo.

Maisie *Slurred*: Excuse me… barmender… ish there toy-let here… at thish shack.

Barmaid *off screen*: The toilet is outside and round the back. Small outhouse.

Maisie *slurred*: Thanksh…

Stella: To be fair to the barmaid, her Unilish was very very good. Given at the time I barely knew how to say please and thank you in Sulanish. She did great.

Ozen: I know! It's surprising how many come from the United Districts, and the United Realms and just EXPECT everybody to speak Unilish! I find it rather funny in a way. I can’t believe you learned to speak Sulanish as quick as you did though!

Morrigan: Are you comfortable continuing in Sulanish, or would you rather use Unilish by the way?

Stella: I can gladly use Sulanish.

****

Stella: After Maisie left I finished my drink and just sat on the stool wondering what to do now. I wanted to go back to the rental and just lie down. But I was having a hard time moving my legs. I figured I could have a beer before retiring for the evening.

Ozen: You had some stamina for your drink!

Stella: I did. I started smoking at 12, and drinking at 15, so by the time I was nearly 22 I had been well used to both. As I sat pondering what to do next with my booze-addled brian, Maisie came stumbling back in, and we decided to have a beer or three, also made in Sulani of course…

#ts4 #ts4 story #sims 4 #sims 4 story #Tales From The District #Season Two #Stella #Flashback #KSU #crossover #TAC #Collab #Sparkiekong #Ozen #Morrigan #Maisie

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centraleventrentals · 2 days

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Essential Tips for Choosing Bar Table and Chair Rentals

How to Choose the Perfect Bar Table and Chair Rentals for Your Event

Planning an event can be both exciting and challenging. One of the critical aspects of creating a memorable experience for your guests is selecting the right furniture, especially when it comes to bar tables and chairs. Whether you're hosting a wedding, corporate event, or a private party, the furniture you choose can significantly impact the overall ambiance and functionality of the space. In this blog, we'll guide you through the process of choosing the perfect bar table and chair rentals for your event, ensuring that you create a stylish and comfortable atmosphere for your guests.

Understanding the Importance of Bar Table and Chair Rentals

When it comes to event planning, the choice of furniture is more than just a functional necessity; it sets the tone for the entire event. Bar tables and chairs, in particular, play a vital role in defining the layout and mood of the space. Whether you're going for a casual, relaxed vibe or a more formal setting, the right tables and chairs can help you achieve your desired look.

The Role of Bar Tables and Chairs in Event Design

Bar tables and chairs are versatile pieces that can be used in various event settings, from cocktail parties to corporate gatherings. They provide a space for guests to gather, socialize, and enjoy refreshments, making them an essential part of your event's design. Here’s why they are so important:

Creating Social Spaces: Bar tables and chairs naturally encourage interaction among guests. Their height and design make them perfect for standing or sitting, facilitating easy conversation.

Defining Areas: Bar tables can help define different zones within your event space, such as a lounge area, a bar section, or a cocktail zone.

Enhancing Aesthetics: The style and material of the tables and chairs can complement your event's theme, adding to the visual appeal.

Key Considerations When Choosing Bar Table and Chair Rentals

Selecting the right bar table and chair rentals requires careful consideration of several factors. These elements will ensure that the furniture not only looks great but also meets the practical needs of your event.

Event Type and Theme

The type of event you're hosting and its theme will heavily influence your choice of furniture. For a formal event, you might opt for elegant, high-backed chairs and sleek, polished tables. For a casual gathering, more relaxed seating options, such as stools and rustic wooden tables, may be more appropriate.

Space and Layout

Understanding the size and layout of your event space is crucial when choosing bar tables and chairs. You need to ensure that the furniture fits comfortably within the area, allowing enough room for guests to move around easily. Measure your space and consider the flow of traffic to determine the optimal placement of tables and chairs.

Comfort and Functionality

While aesthetics are important, comfort should never be overlooked. Guests will be spending a significant amount of time seated, so choose chairs that offer adequate support and comfort. Additionally, consider the functionality of the tables—are they the right height for the chairs, and do they provide enough space for drinks and plates?

Quality and Durability

When renting bar tables and chairs, quality and durability are key. Ensure that the rentals are in good condition and made from sturdy materials. High-quality furniture will not only look better but will also be safer and more comfortable for your guests.

Budget Considerations

Your budget will also play a significant role in your selection process. It's essential to find a balance between quality and cost. While you don't want to overspend, it's important to remember that cheaper options may not always offer the best value in terms of comfort and appearance. Consider allocating a reasonable portion of your budget to furniture rentals to ensure a successful event.

Popular Styles of Bar Tables and Chairs

With so many options available, it can be overwhelming to choose the right style of bar tables and chairs for your event. Here are some popular styles to consider:

Modern and Minimalist

If you're aiming for a sleek and contemporary look, modern bar tables and chairs with clean lines and minimalist designs are a great choice. These pieces often feature materials like metal and glass, which can add a touch of sophistication to your event.

Rustic and Vintage

For a more relaxed and charming atmosphere, consider rustic or vintage-style tables and chairs. Wooden furniture with distressed finishes and earthy tones can create a warm and inviting environment, perfect for outdoor events or casual gatherings.

Classic and Elegant

For formal events, classic and elegant bar tables and chairs are ideal. Think of polished wood, upholstered seats, and intricate detailing. These pieces add a touch of luxury and refinement, making them perfect for weddings, galas, and upscale parties.

Tips for Renting Bar Tables and Chairs

Renting bar tables and chairs can be a straightforward process if you keep a few key tips in mind. These will help you avoid common pitfalls and ensure that you get the most out of your rental experience.

Start Early

One of the best pieces of advice is to start the rental process early. Popular styles and items can get booked quickly, especially during peak event seasons. Starting early gives you a wider selection and more time to make decisions.

Visit the Rental Showroom

Whenever possible, visit the rental company's showroom to see the furniture in person. This allows you to inspect the quality, test the comfort, and visualize how the pieces will look at your event. It also gives you the opportunity to ask any questions and discuss customization options.

Consider Logistics

When planning your rentals, think about the logistics of delivery, setup, and breakdown. Make sure the rental company provides reliable delivery services and that the furniture will arrive in time for your event. Clarify who will be responsible for setting up and taking down the tables and chairs, and whether there are any additional fees for these services.

Read the Fine Print

Before finalizing your rental agreement, carefully read the contract's terms and conditions. Pay attention to details like the rental period, cancellation policy, and any potential additional charges. Understanding the fine print can help you avoid unexpected costs and ensure a smooth rental experience.

Conclusion

Choosing the right bar table and chair rentals can make a significant difference in the success of your event. By considering factors such as event type, space, comfort, and style, you can select furniture that not only meets your practical needs but also enhances the overall atmosphere. Whether you're planning a wedding equipment rental or any other event, the right rentals will help you create a memorable experience for your guests. Start early, visit showrooms, and pay attention to logistics and contract details to ensure a seamless and successful event.

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