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[periprose]

Sweet as Nuka Cola

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Reader

You're an upcoming actress who has a constant flirtation with Cooper Howard. But even if things seem to be off to a good start, a nuclear bomb, a cryogenic pod, and two hundred years of carnage ruins all of it. Is there something to be salvaged from your relationship with Mr. Howard?

Genre: Mutual pining, flirting, slow-burn, angst, friends to kind-of enemies to lovers (no cheating but maybe it's a little murky?)

Word Count: 11k

“Action!”

“Hello. Yes, it’s me.” You wave at the camera, adorned in a classic-red sweetheart neckline dress. “You might know me from ‘Girls Want It All’ or ‘Next Door Babe.’”

Here, you play up your recent bombshell status. As Ed, the director of this advert, keeps reminding you, you need to sell yourself to make customers listen.

You sway in your dress, squeezing your arms and throwing your waist back to plump and push out your chest. The implication of the sex appeal in your movies keeps people watching.

But you’re still a rather new actress, so America might not know you so well. You’re glad Nuka Cola has hired you– if you want to be a star, you need more exposure.

“Do you enjoy feeling refreshed?” You cock your head to the camera, pursing your red lips. “Well, golly, what a silly question. Who doesn't?”

“That's where Nuka Cola comes in.” You lift a bottle out of the cooler next to you, all gentle in demeanour, showing off the logo of the bottle to the camera, in your perfectly manicured hands. “With triple the amount of caffeine found in competitor's bottled cola, it's sure to keep you feeling up for a long, long time.”

“And it's good for you.” Ed whispers, a last minute adlib you did not agree to, but you're a professional, so you add it on with a little wink.

“And it sure as heck is good for you.” You smile, the infamous smile that's won you notoriety to Hollywood execs for being the newest bombshell on the block, and you throw your shoulders back as you really lean into your image. 

“Cut! That's a wrap, everyone!” Ed, wanting to finish early, quickly starts ushering everyone out so not a cent more gets spent. 

You immediately relax out of your practised, professional smile. “Any ADR needed?”

“Don't think so, but we'll let you know.” The director is already moving onto whatever his next project is. Advertisements make more money than anything else these days.

You head over to catering, where you're craving– not a Nuka Cola, considering how much sugar is in that thing it's hardly refreshing at all– but an iced tea. 

You stretch out your ankles in your kitten heels as you prepare it. If you told your Ma back in Mojave that the worst thing about fame would be the uncomfortable outfits, she'd smack you. So you keep it to yourself– you're grateful, you're humble, you'll never be an entitled asshole like those fucking execs.

“Watch out, I'm behind ya.” A man gently presses your shoulder as he walks next to you.

You know that voice. Famous movie cowboy, devilishly handsome, easy to admire. A career worth emulating.

“Mr. Howard?” You turn to look at him, and it is him. Wearing a tuxedo suit, smiling his classic, rugged grin at you.

“The one and the only.” He laughs in a self-deprecating way, as a man tired with his fame and used to mocking it. “Hey, wait, don't I know you?”

You immediately feel your face heat up. “Probably not– lots of people have mistaken me for Lucky Yates so far…”

“No, I do know you.” He points a finger at you, while pouring himself a mug of black coffee. “I told you mister, I'm not here for a long time. Just a good one, and if you can't provide it for me, I'll be inclined to look elsewhere.”

Cooper Howard does a perfect impression of your girly, haughty tone from “Girls Want It All”, and it surprises you that he even knows your dialogue that well. You're not used to this much attention, especially not from one of Hollywood's most notable movie stars.

He says your name.

“Yeah, that's me.” You say sheepishly– even though you know you have to fake that confidence, it's hard when you've been caught off guard. You're starstruck– you don't know how to operate, now realizing that even celebrities are noticing you. “Just shooting an ad for Nuka-Cola.”

“Ah, that’s smart of you.” He leans in– about to give you a bit of Hollywood advice, no doubt– and you feel yourself turning warm at the attention he’s giving you. “I wouldn’t expect any less from one of Hollywood’s upcoming stars– residuals aren’t enough to make the world go round.”

You know he’s admiring your street smarts, but you have to ask. “Upcoming, really?”

“Miss, I’m not sure many other actresses could’ve delivered that little monologue I just did without, er, pardon my language,” Cooper takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes peering down at you over the perimeter of the cup. “Fucking it up. Pantomiming too much wily, feminine shit  that execs love, without that little edge of real, subtle emotion. I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

You giggle a little. “C’mon, really? I hardly got to act the way I wanted to.”

“That’s how it starts. Little moments, little subtleties where you’re letting your real character shine through– it’s noticeable to the industry. More opportunities come that way. But it’s smart to use, uh…” Cooper swallows, a tiny, imperceptible thing that reminds you of your bombshell image, that he must be thinking about it. “Smart to use such attractive imagery, if you get my drift. The public will eat you up.”

The way he drawls that latter part makes you feel excited, but you keep it down– it’s well known Cooper Howard is a married man, and you are not about to be ruined by an affair. Even if he does sound sort of flirty, this sort of complimenting is so common in Hollywood.

“What are you doing in the advertisement shooting lot?” You ask, changing the subject, and Cooper shrugs, a nonchalant ripple of a movement that tells you his general cool demeanour isn’t just acting.

“Promised my wife I’d shoot an advert for her. Vault-Tec, you know?” He admits, telling you he hasn’t forgotten about his wife, either. “Gotta head to the experimental Vault they’ve set up next door.”

“Yes, of course.” You, like anyone else, have seen the ads of Cooper in the Vault-Tec suit– it’s a rather controversial thing to be partaking in, but you think he knows what he’s doing.

“Well, Nuka-Cola.” He hands you an iced tea– one you didn’t even notice him making for you as you were talking to him. “I’ll see you around.”

/

The Ghoul walks around the wasteland, two hundred something years into the future.

He’s searching for a bounty– Leopold St. West– worth at least 1000 caps, and it’s terribly difficult to find him when every single person claims he’s in all these different locations, not a single one correlated to each other.

So he’s walking around a destroyed neighbourhood, where Leopold was last seen a day ago, if his fellow ghouls are to be trusted. If he had to guess, these are the remnants of China Town– the faux Asian-esque details, the cheesy red colouring, the false authenticity Hollywood loves to portray as “good as the real thing”. God, Coop does not miss some parts of the fame.

He suddenly stumbles over a piece of the broken sidewalk. Coop’s usually pretty agile, nonchalant on his feet– he knows this feeling. He’s going through withdrawal.

“Shit, I need a minute.” He mutters to himself, feeling a bit woozy.

He's only got a couple more vials of drugs, so he can't be using them all willy-nilly. No, he needs to recoup things and go through this carefully.

Shelter is necessary– the longer Coop is out in the sun, the harsher the effects of withdrawal feel. And, if he’s lucky, one of these buildings might have something for him to loot– more drugs if he’s extra, extra lucky.

Coop enters a nondescript building– where a radroach is waiting, and he immediately fires at it without even looking, killing it in one shot– and he sees the sign over the entry way, marking the lobby.

This is some Hollywood executive-owned club. It’s hard to tell– two hundredyears of wear-and-tear will do that for you– but Cooper Howard distinctly remembers this place, maybe in some conversation back then, maybe when he was networking. 

Every single thing has a distinct, thick layer of grime over it. Coop thinks of sweaty strippers dancing, actors cheating on their wives– they’re all probably dead now.

He reaches into his satchel and takes a hit of one of his vials– and hopes he can replace what he uses with something here.

There’s not a single bottle behind the bar, and he jostles through, not seeing a chem or a drug left behind by anyone on the floor or behind the counter, and he’s mildly disgruntled over how every place has nearly everything picked clean by raiders, wastelanders– just other people. Coop will always loathe these other assholes.

He climbs the broken stairs with a lanky, languid stretch, making it over a fairly large hole where a corpse waits on the floor below. A raider who didn’t watch where he was stepping. That tells him there should be loot up on this upper floor– at least a bit of it.

He walks to the one closed door in a less-than-discreet hallway, gold sconces and railings marking the way.

“Ah… private office.” Coop jiggles an ostentatious handle to a mahogany door, that is surely leading to an even more pretentiously ostentatious office, and he finds that it’s locked.

A good sign. Most likely no one’s ever been in there, because it’s probably a difficult lock to pick. 

It surprises him that no one’s ever just forced their way through.

Coop doesn’t waste time on this though– he just takes a teeny gun out of his bag, fires it, and admires the hole in the door where the handle used to be. The door creaks open on it’s own, and he saunters into a well furnished, dusty office room.

“Nope, nope, nope…” He pushes box after box in the shelves next to the wall, and they fall with loud clatter– loaded with panicky, nuclear-war-on-the-horizon type shit, like canned meats and beans and preserved jams and pickles. “Fuck no.”

He pushes off a toy figurine of Vault Boy down with extra gusto.

Coop looks behind the desk, where there’s a dusty placard reading Adrian Amos II. He grins– one of the worst producer bastards of all time is not someone he’d feel bad about stealing from, even if there was still some conscience left in him. No, sir, Adrian Amos the second did not deserve any sympathy, especially after the way he was known for bitching about salaries, abusing PAs, and having a predilection for going after less-than-consenting women.

Coop grits his teeth, remembering that asshole and how terrible and gaudy this club was back then. Not that it was better now– but he’s grateful for one man’s deserved death, at least.

He jostles open where the second drawer is filled with the glass clinking sound of many, many vials.

“Fucking jackpot, Jesus.” Coop stares down at how many there are– at least 40 or 50– a hell of a lot to just be left behind.

Well, based on the other supplies, Adrian Amos got fucked over and either didn’t make it to his vault in time, or forgot to run to his private club before heading in.

Coop doesn’t give a fuck, though. He starts piling the vials into his cases, and then back into his bag.

There’s a sudden whirring sound near him. “Huh?”

To his left, an imperceptible secret door has pushed itself outwards, decorated in the same dark brown wallpaper as the rest of the room.

Coop looks down and under– he’s accidentally pressed a secret button on the underside of the drawer. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t know what would be inside the secret room– assassins, raiders waiting on someone to dupe? Maybe even synths, just meant to protect Amos when he needed it.

Inside the room, it’s dark, and he can’t make out anything. Coop can only draw his gun rapidly when there’s a blue light suddenly emitting out from the inside.

He’s careful as he approaches– last thing Coop wants is an ambush– and as his vision improves, he sees it’s a cryonic pod, all frosted over so he can’t make out who’s inside.

Coop sighs, ready to leave it behind– he’s not interested in waking up Amos– and instead, the thing whirs, heating up it’s insides with extremely hot steam, and then opens up with a mechanical flourish.

Coop instinctively steps back, coughing “Holy shit!” as the air whooshes past him.

A body falls out, just looking slightly frosted– mostly thawed by whatever the cryo tank just did. 

/

You're on set again, sitting in a free lawn chair while others get ready for their take– it's not for a Nuka-Cola ad, it's just a guest appearance on everyone's favourite sitcom, The Grady Group, where you play an overly promiscuous babysitter who has no sense for watching over kids.

It's comedic, it's an easy way to get laughs– plus it actually boosts the shows’ ratings since you've been in movies and all. You’re done filming already, you’re just sitting here watching the rest of the shoot, dragging out your return to your car, and then back home. 

Something about the fictional family you wait on, Gill and Gina Grady, and their kids Gideon, Gessica, and Gwen, it makes you miss having a family of your own. In fact, you have half a mind to call your mother, despite all the bitching she’ll give you about the things you haven’t done yet.

It also doesn't help that Gill and Gina are a couple in real life– named Arthur and Bea Smith, they really, really are in love, and in between takes they're often canoodling with each other.

You're happy for them, if not a little– jealous, despite the fact that you're not interested in dating anyone right now. At least, you thought you weren't, but you find that lately, when you return back to your apartment all lonesome after a shoot, you feel like something is missing.

“Hey. Nuka-Cola.” Cooper Howard strolls over to where you're sitting, and you smile up at him, covering your eyes from the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Mr. Howard. Shooting today?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not at all. Just lounging around, waiting for my kid.” He sits in the lawn chair next to you, leaning back, crossing one leg over the other. “Janey is on a field trip at a museum next door– I thought I’d kill some time before picking her up.”

“Ah, cute.” You grin. Janey Howard is an absolutely precious kid– she shares her dad’s smile, but has a curious nature that you admire. “Is she well?”

“As well as kids can be at that age, running around all the time.” Cooper shrugs. “You know how it is.”

“Kind of. I actually did used to babysit kids, so I know– they can never sit still or mind their business.” You laugh as Cooper grins. 

“So you went method for your guest appearance, huh?” He asks, and you’re mildly baffled.

“How do you know about that?” You squint at him, just being jokingly suspicious.

“Oh, I saw a few clips of your footage. While I was walking over here.” He points over at Stu, the director, standing on the living room set, watching clips on his viewfinder. “Seemed pretty natural to me.”

It almost bothers you that he seems so interested in you and your work, that he always voices support– but he’s well-known for being happily married, for being content in general, unlike you.  

Still, better a friend than nothing at all, that’s what you always tell yourself.

“Thanks. But it’s not hard being around kids, is it?” You reminisce being a kid in Mojave, playing with your friends on your street– and then as a young adult, babysitting new kids that still wanted to play with you. “I still sometimes feel like I’m just a kid pretending to be an adult.”

“That never goes away, darlin’.” Cooper laughs, and you blink. “Being an actor, especially, you’re never losing that childhood sense of wonder, you get my drift?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod. “I just don’t feel complete, I guess. I’m still waiting for the moment I’ll know I’m an adult– like maybe if I get married or something like that.”

“Being married didn’t change that for me either. Neither did being a dad.” He winces, and scratches at his stubble. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that, but I think it’s all apart of being a human person.”

Your face turns a little more glum at that, and he wonders what he said that bummed you out. It’s not his intention– he wants to cheer you up.

“What’s with the sad, forlorn, ‘I’m-a-pretty-girl-come-comfort-me’ look?” Cooper utters as he leans in, and you laugh a little but silence yourself, recognizing his compliment.

It’s dangerous to flirt with this guy, this taken man who has nothing to gain but a bit of affection he may be missing, but you see that he knows his compliment had effect anyways– and he definitely likes that.

You just choose to assume it’s entirely friendly.

“I just… I like the thought of having a family.” You suck in air,at how foolish and girly this sounds, hardly the cutthroat businesswoman you need to be out here. “This is stupid, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it isn’t.” Cooper taps his arm rest, thinking. “You’re hurting, I can tell. You got that same pissed off look most ladies get when they ‘don’t wanna talk’ but they’re holding tons of shit inside.”

Damn this guy, you think, but you decide to be honest.

“I just didn’t think it’d be so lonely out here. In Hollywood.” You press your palms together. “Like, everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by classic Americana, the nuclear family– and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m jealous.”

“As a bachelorette, don’t you got plenty of options?” Cooper grins. “I mean, are men not lining up to court Nuka-Cola girl?”

“Ah…” You hum, thinking of dates you’ve had here, settling back in your seat. “I don’t know– it’s cheesy but I want more sincerity.”

“In that case, don’t be jealous, marriage ain’t all that.” Cooper tuts, knowing that you of all people should hear about how it doesn’t complete you. “It’s not perfect, it’s not a magical fairy-tale where everything gets solved, it’s a hell of a lot more work than people let on.”

“Oh.” You knew that, deep down– but hearing it from him really solidifies that for you. It’s a silly dream.

It sounds like he’s speaking from experience, so you quiet down. But you’re not trying to get your hopes up about that or anything.

“And you’re not an idiot, Nuka-Cola. Don’t get into something you’re not a hundred fucking percent sure about.” Cooper clicks his tongue. “If you really feel the urge to suddenly go and play wife with someone, just for me, make sure he’s absolutely worth it.”

“For you?” You raise your eyebrows at that.

“I figure you won’t do it for yourself. Love is blind and all that.” He points at himself. “But if I, as your buddy Cooper, hold you to that? I’ll bet that you’ll vet every single guy.”

“Oh, really.” You smirk at him, your nose scrunching a little. “Is that for my benefit, or yours?”

“Uh…” Cooper is truly caught off guard here. He knows he didn’t intend anything by what he said, but it does feel like… he won’t enjoy the fact that if the next few times he talks to you, continuing become close to you, he’ll have to get the approval of some man.

Some man who wouldn’t even know you as long he has known you. He always likes his chats with you, and there’s an urge inside him not to let you go.

He thinks again that you’re a little too spontaneous. Not easy to dupe, no– he can’t just flirt with you for fun because you’ll always pick up on it, even if he did it by mistake.

“No comment.” He finally answers with a raspy, low tone, one that you barely hear but are satisfied by.

/

A few months later, you check your face in your little compact mirror before stuffing it in your purse and heading inside Sebastian Leslie’s home. Exciting, yes, because this is the first time you’ve been invited not just to network, not just because a big name has seen you in the movies and wants to flaunt that they know you tangentially.

No, this is the first time you know someone, you’re actually in with a crowd– you’re friends with the host. You don’t feel nearly as awkward walking into Sebastian’s comfortable home and seeing familiar faces that you’re close with, decor that you already recognize.

“There she is.” Sebastian greets you with a tight hug– for a massive flirt he’s actually rather protective of you sometimes. “Love the dress, by the way– is that a vintage Chanel? Black is very flattering on you, my dear.”

You get the sense he didn’t want you to be involved in this industry sometimes, but other times– he likes that you put work in.

“I saw your newest advertisement on TV yesterday.” He comments, and you giggle.

“Was it good?” 

“Yeah, amazing as usual– but you gotta do more than that.” Sebastian holds your hand as he pulls you into the crowd of other low-level actors, people who could risk showing up, really, and you fix your dress, a black one with a low square neckline. “Look into Vault-Tec– I’ve been telling Cooper here about how our futures are totally going to be surrounded by their products, even though that fucker does not want to listen.”

Cooper’s lounging in a low sofa in the pit of this living room, holding a crystal glass full of amber liquid, black button up shirt half open– he looks dishevelled, hair slightly askew, jaw off-kilter as he presses his tongue into his cheek, thinking. Lost by something, but still put together as celebrities are. Geez, you really need to temper your attraction to him.

It doesn’t help how he looks at you, either– there’s something deep and reverent about his gaze, like he wants to believe whatever he sees when he’s looking at you– but you have no idea if it’s real, or if it’s just an act like with most of these celebrities.

You used to see him a lot more frequently too, over the last few months. Either at set, or at more fancy parties– most of which he’s been perfectly pleasant and kind to you.

“Of course you’d label me as some fucking chairman for them, Seabass.” Cooper slams back half a pint of whisky, and pours himself some more. “Hey, Nuka-Cola.”

“Hey, Mr. Howard.” You smile gently. You’ve heard about his divorce– everyone has, but you’re not 100% sure why it’s happened, why now when things seemed to be going so well for him.

Well is relative, though. You know loads of actors have decried him privately– no one wants to hang out with the man promoting the end of the world, apparently. It must be a tough thing to only be hired for your wife’s advertisements– and even then, you don’t exactly agree with what they’re marketing, either.

You don’t feel so strongly against Cooper, though. Maybe because you do like him– but also because you know what it’s like to have your image connected to something you don’t really promote. Nuka-Cola isn’t healthy, it’s got enough sugar to induce instant death when drank regularly. But you do it for the connections, the money– and you’re sure Cooper did too.

“Cooper is fine.” He grumbles, and you remember his last name is maybe a sore subject right now.

“Sorry.” You do your best to be delicate as you sit next to him, and Sebastian sits on the other side of you. “How’re you, Cooper?”

“Not bad. If you count being divorced as being alright.” He sighs, and you feel terrible that you even asked. “It’s like I never knew her, man– I thought Barb was different. Or they changed her, I don’t fucking know.”

“She had her eyes set on the prize. As did you, Coop.” Sebastian states, and Cooper turns, affronted.

“We’re all interested in money and glory, Seabass. Fuck you if you think otherwise.” Cooper tenses, and you feel a bit awkward listening in on this conversation.

“What did I say that negates that? I’m as money hungry as they come.” Sebastian shrugs. “I only meant that– despite it all, making money was what you had in common, evidently not the world-going-nuclear shit. Maybe you’ve got a heart of gold, a change of mind, I don’t know, Cooper. But throwing away an easy life just to pay alimony must be fucking awful, so I just don’t think you’re in it for the money anymore.”

“You’re fucking telling me.” Cooper sniggers. “I don’t think Barb cares. I’m here with no career, and she’s out there getting promoted in Vault-Tec. As for the heart of gold… any former marine would’ve been against that shit.”

You want to ask what shit, but you don’t want to overstep your boundaries. You get the general fear of nuclear war– but Cooper sounds more personally affected by it.

Cooper glances over at you. “What do you think? Better to be richer than you can spend in a lifetime, or to be out with a good conscience?” 

“I don’t know if I’m that interested in money.” You say honestly, and Cooper raises his eyebrows.   

“Really? Nuka-Cola’s a saint, huh.” He chuckles– he’s clearly a bit buzzed.

“No, I’m not. Of course I want to have a career.” You think about this carefully, so it doesn’t sound insincere. “Making money is nice– but I don’t think I have the right to say it should come at the cost of human lives. You know Nuka-Cola is terrible for you, right? ”

Cooper stares at you for a moment too long, and then looks away. “Yeah… addicting.”

He’s definitely not talking about Cola, but you continue on. “Yeah, so just in that way– I disagree with how much power marketing has. We’ve convinced America that they need this– just so some chairman can make an extra dollar.”

Cooper looks at you, renewed by whatever you just said. “Hell, woman after my own heart. That’s damn true.”

“Yes, yes, you two oblivious flirts– there’s no art in filmmaking anymore, just commercialism. Not like it hasn’t been the case for a century.” Sebastian chimes in, and you bite your lip, pretending not to notice how Cooper’s face is smirking bashfully. “But, babe. You’re going to want to make your money before the world fucking ends.”

“What’s that?” You startle, and Cooper laughs sardonically at your surprise, while Sebastian gets up.

“Let me get myself a drink– I hardly want to tell this story sober.” He leaves, and Cooper has half a heart to glare at him– he knows Sebastian is leaving the two of you alone so he can do the dirty work.

Not like his reputation can ever get better, especially by telling this story again with it’s lurid details, but at least it doesn't hurt that he's with you. 

“What does he mean by that, Mr. Howard?” You wince at your use of that. “Sorry– I meant Cooper.”

“Ah, call me what you’d like.” Cooper takes another sip of his drink, leaning back in the couch to the point where he is practically lying down and against you. “It sounds good coming out of your mouth no matter what you pick, Nuka-Cola.”

Now that’s a suggestive, loaded line, and you feel a little more comfortable flirting with him even if it’s a bit of a rebound for him. The end of the world is approaching, right?

“The end of the world?” You prod at him, and he sighs, leaning against your shoulder. 

“It’s fucking ridiculous, what it is… probably never going to happen anytime soon.” Cooper’s tone of voice is hazy as he examines his last sip of whisky in the glass. “No, no. Just something those fucking commies put in my head. I guess they’re not really commies, are they?”

“Unless you elaborate, I can’t say.” You utter back at him, and he pushes down a smile.

“Alright. Vault-Tec’s been selling this nuclear protective stuff, right?” He says, and you nod, your cheek brushing against the top of his hair. “All I can say is that a few… radicals, if you will, think that Vault-Tec might actually be more involved with it than they say. Like, they might be…”

“Not just protective, huh? More offensive? Everyone’s got that feeling, Mr. Howard. And that doesn't sound like a particularly commie-train-of-thought to me.” You hear the sorrow in his tone, even if he’s trying to make it sound like a rumour. “Did you hear this from your ex-wife?”

Cooper winces here. He still feels slightly guilty about spying on her. A part of him thinks they might’ve not divorced if he hadn’t found out– but he knows he was bound to find out eventually, and he would’ve just delayed the inevitable.

“Maybe, Cola. Maybe you’re just sharp.” He whispers, and you smile and he feels it– your skin is intoxicatingly close right now.

“So, odds are?” You ask, just curious, and he exhales.

“Bad. I have to agree with them.” He admits, and it feels exhilarating to admit this– that Vault-Tec is gonna nuke the world at some point, that the radicals are more like minded to him than he’s wanted to believe in the past. “Even if it didn’t cost my movies, I regret partaking in what they were selling.”

That’s a big thing for him to say– you know Cooper loves acting, he absolutely adores playing a hardened sheriff, the last vestige of goodness in the wild, wild west. All the times you’ve visited him on his set– probably during his last contractual movie, now that you think about it– and he was always so excited to show off the architecture and intricacies of the fictional western town they’d set up, share script details and little character quirks so you could have an insider’s viewpoint. He even donned his cowboy hat on you, saying you wore it like a natural.

He loved being the hero, really.

He lights a cigarette, and takes a puff.

“Most big-name connections refuse to talk to me because of this stuff– I’ve basically been dropped out of phonebooks all together. They think I’m still in on it, they think I’ve only stopped because of backlash–” He stops as you begin to scratch his scalp, still leaning against your shoulder, but getting progressively into your neck area.

Jesus, that feels good. He thinks. He hasn’t been intimate in a while– Barb became increasingly more cold to him over the last few months, as their marriage kept falling apart.

“Backlash, really?” You whisper. 

“Yeah.” He stutters for just a moment, because your eyes are peering into his, and for a moment he thinks you could really make it as just a bombshell if you wanted to– then he takes another puff. “When really, I was just backing out of what I thought was really a massive crime against humanity.”

“Are you only telling me this to validate your poor conscience? Remedy that reputation a little?” You ask, and he presses his lips together. 

“Well, I'll be honest, yeah. Of fucking course I'd tell the one woman who seems to be like me on this.” He sounds so certain of you, sounds so sure that you're on his side.

And you absolutely are.

“The world’s about to end, Mr. Howard. You're not a bad man for not wanting to support it. I'm inclined to agree.” You inhale deeply, and Cooper stares at you– something stirs inside him as he does. 

“Kiss me, then. Humour me– since none of this will matter soon.” Cooper murmurs, lying on top of your chest now, the smoke from his cigarette enveloping your face.

He’s so close you barely have to move to oblige to what he’s said– you're second guessing yourself for just a moment, because it feels like a dream that he'd ask you to do this, so out of the blue, such a picture perfect fantasy that you almost don't care about the impending doom, and you press your lips gently to his in an upside-down kiss, his hair brushing against your open cleavage, but Cooper is insistent and leans upward, kissing you with such intensity that your head is spinning afterwards.

God, now that's a movie star kiss. You think.

He kisses you again as Sebastian returns, drink in hand.

“Oi! You two. Jesus Christ, can't keep your hands off each other, can you?” Sebastian pretends to vomit. “C’mon, if I want to talk to you at my party, I should have that right.”

You attempt to pull away– but Cooper, being a little mischevious, perhaps wanting to show off in a way he hasn’t been able to, sits up right and kisses you again, this time normally, just very slowly and passionately though, slithering an arm around your waist in a way that has Sebastian rolling his eyes. 

“Okay, present.” He says, not pulling his arm off your waist. 

“Thanks.” Sebastian shakes his head. “I was thinking we should take the mood off with some party games…”

/

It's about 2 AM when you've finally left the party. Cooper didn't want to let you go– he's crashing at an apartment for the time being, but you really don't want to waste yourself on being his rebound, if he really likes you.

You tell him as much, and he likes that– you really are rather sharp about things. 

“Well. Gimme a call when you realize I'm not kidding around with you.” He says unabashedly, holding your hand, kissing it as you leave.

You’re absolutely sure he's drunk, and he's being a little too clingy– but you want to believe him anyways. 

You walk back to your car, alone. Thinking about if Cooper is worth the damage it could have on your potential career. But then again– the end of the world is coming, right?

So maybe it won’t matter. And you find that you like this, the secret potential of this option, just hanging out with Cooper in a place that used to be America, no more expectations on you both. There’s also the chance you just both die, though.

You shudder.

You don't notice that there's a man in the backseat of your car when you get in, brandishing a chloroform stained cloth.

/

The Ghoul prods at the body that's just fallen out of the cryo pod.

Oh fuck. 

It's starting to stir, whoever it is, and Coop knows he's ready, if this is really some synthetic android-clone thing, to make their life hell. Get some of his anger out on something that doesn’t matter.

Wait– he recognizes that cherry red fabric. That coiffed hair, frosty after being inside the pod. Oh, Jesus… even the makeup is the same as when he last saw you. 

“Ah… shit.” He chuckles to himself in exasperation, because this is beyond belief. “Nuka-Cola, is that you?”

You tilt yourself to the side, eyes bleary, unable to see clearly. Everything’s dark. But you know that voice, you just heard it a couple of days ago.

“Mr. Howard?” You croak out, and he hisses inwards– nobody has called him that in centuries. Nobody knows who he is… except for you, of course. 

“The one and the same, baby.” He licks the side of his gums, deciding to stick with his identity for now. “Well, maybe a little different. You wouldn't happen to know what a Ghoul is, huh?”

“What?” You don't know how long your vision is going to stay black for, but you don't like the sound of that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Eyes haven't been opened for… two hundred years. I'll give you some time, Cola.” He sighs; cracks his neck, while you sink back into the floor. “Just imagine the ugliest horror-picture monster you can imagine. Zombie, no nose. That paint a picture for you?”

“...”

“What was that?” Coop can't hear you when your voice is muffled into the tiles of this secret room. He grasps your hair gently, from the root, pulling your head upwards so you'll speak– clearly you don't have the strength to lift up your body. 

“I said, how is that any different from before?” 

“Oh, she's still a jokester.” Coop scoffs– despite himself he snorts– and he lets go of your hair so you land back on the floor with a thump.

“–Ow!” You flinch, and then turn over so you’re on your back. “Still an asshole, huh?”

“Me?” He grins maliciously. Ooh, maybe he can use some misplaced anger on you. “You're the one who didn't call back for several weeks.”

“How could I? You can see I've been trapped in a cryo thing for… however long. Did you say two hundred years?” You flatly ask, and Coop still thinks you're lying.

“Yes, and bullshit. You probably had a couple weeks since I last saw you to call me.” He states, and he doesn’t actually hold a grudge, at least not that much of it in comparison to all the other horrid shit that’s happened to him– he just thinks it's funny to push your buttons after all of that, like looking into a mirror of the past– and you groan.

“No, I didn't. I got in my car after Sebastian's party, and some goon sprayed something in my face, I passed out, and he drove me here.” You start, and you begin frowning in such a way that Coop almost feels bad. 

“Why you, sweetheart?” He shakes his head. “You weren't exactly high up in popularity yet.”

“Exactly. No one would miss me.” You spit out bitterly, remember the end to that night, where you were so unaware of your surroundings, and terrified of being assaulted as you were pushed around into this room, blindfolded.

“Adrian fucking Amos, the fucking Second, thought it would be great if I just became his permanent doll during the apocalypse.” You swallow, and Coop sits down next to you, to listen more clearly. You shift towards his body heat– and to his surprise, he still likes that. “See, his daddy has shares in Vault-Tec, so he decided before nuclear fallout happened, he wanted a guaranteed sex slave from his favourite advertisements.”

“Nuka-Cola.” Coop utters with the slowest drawl, concluding your statement– and you like that.

“Yeah, Nuka fucking Cola.” You grimace. “Then he undressed me, put me in this little number, and threw me in the pod. I barely remember this shit because I was so out of it.”

“Shame. I always wondered why you never called me back.” Coop circles back to his little grudge– but he also feels bad, feels some level of guilt that neither he nor Sebastian had the sense to look out for you back then, and you were practically assaulted (maybe actually so if you didn't remember). 

“Yeah, because I wanted to miss out on that piece of ass. Sure.” You joke feebly, and Coop laughs despite himself. 

“Honey, you're gonna run away screaming when you finally see me. Don't worry about it.” He shakes his head. “The real world's a lot more fucking difficult than would'ves and could'ves.”

“Okay, explain. If you're willing to owe me that much.” You start, and Coop gets reminded of that fateful night a couple hundred years ago, where he was the one to clue you into the impending nuclear war.

Not even three months later, it was all over, and you were nowhere in sight– if his mind ever did drift to you, the what-ifs and who-knows that still persisted– he would always assume you were dead.

Now he thinks you're just unfinished business. 

“Fine.” He taps your shoulder, and you lean a little closer towards him– you touch his hand, and instead of flinching as many people have in the past– you trace the tough, callused skin there.

He thinks there’s something wrong with you. Why do you seem drawn to him anyways? You’re completely fucking up his tough guy, lone-wolf persona by being here, and he wants you gone. He pulls away his hand, ignoring how your face falls for a moment.

Coop inhales, and then starts. “In October 2077, they nuked America, bombed it all to hell. By they, I think we both know what I’m implying.”

“It wasn’t the Chinese.” You interrupt, and he shushes you.

“Yeah, Cola.” He starts playing with his fingers, feeling like you don’t deserve to be here right now. That you should’ve just stayed dead. “Vault-Tec destroyed it all.”

It’s no good. He’s an old man, and you’re still as soft and young as ever. He’s always haunted by his past, like with Barb and Janey, and then Sebastian’s voice in every single Mr. Handy robot he comes by, and then finally, his last couple memories with you.

“The last two hundred something years have been filled with carnage, death, unspeakable horrors that your pretty little mind could never comprehend.” He grits out, pushing past the past and remembering that this is who he is now– a killer– and you stare at him vacantly, because his tone is so much more serious suddenly. “Nothing is the same. Everyone has blood on their hands, water is a fucking commodity, if you’re not watching out for humans to betray you, hideous creatures like me roam the ground, and that ground? Sands, deserts, barely a hint of green. It’s nothing worth coming back to.”

“So you’re saying I’m in hell.” You suddenly inhale harshly, and Coop ignores the urge to check on you.

The last thing he needs is an extra person to take care of– especially someone who doesn’t know the Wasteland. So it’s better now that he just weans you off and leaves you here.

“Yeah, sweetheart. And I'm the devil.” Coop sucks on his teeth again. “If you had any sense, you’d go back into that fucking freezer until some utopia is born four hundred years from–”

You flinch, and he stops. 

“Oh, God, my eyes–”

The sight comes back slowly then all at once. Light everywhere, overwhelming your senses. 

You blink, tears rolling down your face. 

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you stayed blind, Cola.” He stares at you as you rub your eyes, taking in the state of the room. 

It’s a warning, but you look up at him again anyways. And Coop waits for the utter horror, for the sign that he really has transformed into a monster, so he can hurry up and leave– this entire conversation with you is just him finishing Cooper Howard’s past with a bow. A shiny, Nuka-Cola-red bow.

“...” You swallow, and then bite your lip, tilting your head up at him. “Couldn’t let go of the cowboy identity, huh?”

Coop furrows his non-existent eyebrows, disliking how hard you’re making this, how clever you still seem to be– you also seem way too relaxed with him. He has half a mind to fire a warning shot at you. “Yeah, okay, darlin’. You’re just avoiding facing that horrific, bile-inducing sensation in your throat, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, disagreeing immediately. “You might look– a little less like how I remember you, I guess… but you’re still you. I see it, and apparently so do you.”

How dare you? Coop thinks, how dare you intertwine his two images together so easily when he could never be the same man again, when just seeing an old VHS tape of one of his movies pains him?

“Yeah, no thanks. If this is your way to get me to valet you around, I’m not that man anymore, Nuka-Cola.” He resents the way you think he could still be good– just because his western image brings him a little comfort nowadays. “Not a sheriff anymore.”

Your face drops, but you seem to take that information readily. “Yeah, I figured that based on your outfit, the little blood splatters on your pants… if that’s how the world is, then so be it.”

You’re saying things that on paper should be right– but Coop is getting more and more disgruntled with you, and you feel like you need to separate yourself from him. Yes, tough, because to you it’s been all of forty-eight hours since you kissed him– but you can see, no matter how deep the original Cooper Howard is inside this new Ghoul, you’re not going to be able to bring him out.

You stand up, on shaky, bare feet, and motion for Coop to move out of the way. Independent woman to the end, you are, and you want to get your bearings without him.

Coop internally sighs. He doesn’t believe for one second you’ll survive out there– and he really doesn’t need to spend the time seeing you die, so he turns around, and leaves you here.

/

He never did find Leopold St. West, much to his chagrin– you really, really messed up his day. 

It happens. Sometimes he’ll see Janey in another person’s eyes and freak out, and have to boil it down by murdering random raiders. 

But now Coop is just spiteful. He’s always figured that a lot of what happened to the world was just a bunch of rich people picking and choosing a destiny for themselves to the detriment of everyone else, and now he’s aware that included you, too. To casually be grabbed away by some man, just because he was rich… Coop isn’t unsympathetic to how you ended up, even if he treated you quite poorly. It’s sickening.

Two hundred years of quiet, always-dwelling agony, the first few years out of fear for being alone, and the next few years spent conspiring about what could’ve happened to his family– and then here you are as confirmation of his worst theories.

No wonder he enjoys his casket time.

/

Coop sighs.

Vaultie is hard to keep track of. She got away with murder this time at the organ harvesting clinic– so Coop finds it easier to stop working with her, to move when he wants to.

The Govermint (really just Booker’s shitty gang) was rather easy to dismantle. The two sheriffs that he killed required no expertise on his part.

He’s thinking about the fact that since Moldaver is still alive, and apparently that fucker Hank MacLean, then that means there’s a good chance Barb and Janey are too– perhaps he could go and find them.

It’s an odd urge, though. Everytime he thinks about it, he wonders how he’s actually supposed to connect with them again– they’ve been fractured for so long, and he’s changed, and there’s a good chance neither of them would accept him like this.

But you did, didn’t you? You were on the verge of saying yes, you’d accept him– as if nothing had changed.

Coop grumbles. The big, significant difference is that you were infatuated with him, but Barb divorced him, and Janey was too young to make that choice. He considers that it could be a pipe dream, but he still has hope– for Janey, at least.

He thinks you’re probably dead anyways. He hasn’t seen you in several months, since that day where he unceremoniously woke you up– and he hopes it stays that way.

He's chilling in another small, scrappy area of the wasteland. Nobody bothers the Ghoul, not when he's casually fiddling with his gun and and chewing on a toothpick.

A man runs past him, holding a significantly valuable piece of Brotherhood equipment. Maybe worth thousands of caps if he knows his shit, and he does. That’s a fusion core, and they’re not exactly mass producing those anymore during the apocalypse.

Coop points his gun at him, finger on the trigger, seconds away from creating a bloody mess–

A blade thwacks into the guy’s neck, blood spurting as he falls and chokes. A person– a woman– jumps on his back, her face obscured by a deep green bandana . She yanks out the knife, stabs a few more times for good measure– and Coop knows the game, he’s not surprised he’s not the only one to go after this guy.

He’s pretty good at killing casually, and he barely even moves from where he’s standing, aiming the gun at her.

No way is he letting easy money pass by him.

He’s about to pull the trigger extra-quick when she yanks the bandana down, taking a deep breath as she sweats, and Coop actually misses.

It’s you. You stare up at him from where you’re squatting over the body, and your gaze hardens, furrowed brows, dark lashes, intensely dark pupils. You purse your lips, press them together, jaw set in a stern fashion, recognizing him but refusing to hear him out– and Coop doesn’t know why he’s not firing, but he’s almost… enamoured with how you are now, almost taken aback by your new nature.

Not so taken aback that he doesn’t immediately start firing when you take the fusion core and start running.

And Coop doesn’t want to actually kill you, he just wants to incite some damage. See how far you can take it.

You interweave through random gaps in the metal scraps of this little abode, seeking shelter as you do so, and Coop’s gunfire only ricochets off them with cartoony sounding “pings!”

He manages to graze your left thigh through a small window, and you inhale sharply, stopping as you grit through the pain.

Coop grins to himself. This little cat and mouse chase is what he expected, what was predictable from you– you’re smart enough to stay on the defense, but you would probably never attack him, avoiding him because of your sad feelings of the old times, never resort to carnage unless you needed to–

You shove past the walls where you’ve been roaming, and manage one kick against his stomach and he manages to grab you and restrain you, your back against his front.

You grab his own jacket for purchase, and instead of pulling forward– you push back, landing on top of him with a thud that surely hurts him. Coop clenches his teeth, back against the ground now, but you scramble, straddling him. Hands around his throat, knife pressed against one of his tendons. Not outright strangling him, but just enough pressure that he knows you’re seriously threatening him.

Holy fuck, have you changed. Just like Vaultie, maybe you’re showing your honest self– and Coop supposes it may have been his mistake to underestimate you.

“Got a whole new outfit… I like it.” He admires your new leather jacket, cargo pants around your thighs pushing his arms down, a blouse fashioned out of your old Nuka-Cola dress. Tough combat boots dig into his thighs as you push against him. “Don’t fucking start–” You squeeze a little harder and he groans, the tip of the knife pushing in. “With your on and off, hot and cold bullshit.” 

Ooh, it sounds like you have a little bit of a grudge over how you were treated.

“Get over it, Cola. It was centuries ago, whatever we had.” He spits out, and you have a glint of sadness in your eyes.

He knew you were a little too gushy for your own good– not even he adapted that quickly to the wilderness of the Wasteland. He waits for you to make the mistake, apologize, break down– and then he can take the core and get out of here.

But you’re still firm in your grasp of him, your weight pushing him down, blade against him.

You’re not angry about back then. You’ve come to terms with that.

You’re angry at the state of the world. 

“You know what I fucking hate, Ghoul?” You spit in his face, and he blinks, spittle now on his chin. “You are all so selfish. I got left behind, likely for dead, right, and nobody gives a shit, whatever. But instead of me hoping that the leftover crumbs of society would at least try to be, I don’t fucking know, more hopeful and kind, or at the very least, not be so fucking greedy and transparently trying to be the new party in charge.”

“You’re living in a dream world.” Coop interrupts, and he’s rewarded with you carving a small, little cut on his cheek, a rapid movement you hardly think about, and it causes him to inhale sharply, a drop of blood smearing across his face.

“Oh, no. I’m not asking for everyone to hold hands and play family.” You laugh suddenly, and then somehow lean in closer, and Coop finds that in some fucked up way he enjoys the pressure against him. “It’s bullshit, that kind of image making– you and I both know that. But for all this supposed talk against the rich billionaires who ruined our lives, how are we not just emulating them?”

Coop is actually drawn to silence.

“Maybe you actually got fooled by self-image, Cola.” He murmurs. “Or maybe that’s just people’s true nature.”

You don’t like that answer. You don’t actually want to believe that, but the more you think about it, the more it’s probably true. People lie all the time, but the amount of outrage you’ve heard from people the last few months, bemoaning Vault-Tec and all those rich fuckers, you were inclined to believe they wouldn’t act the exact same way.

Just at a different level. Power corrupts all, you guess.

You loosen your grasp a little. “Thank you.”

It’s honest, and Coop doesn’t like how much he does like your nature of trusting him– how even as this new, terrible version of yourself, you still trust him, and you still ask for his advice.

He doesn’t know what to make of this, but he thinks maybe he can get some use out of you yet.

Coop wrangles his arm from out under your thigh, where you’ve accidentally let a gap through, and shoves you over.

You fall with a gasp, hitting the ground, and he stands up and kicks you for good measure, while you screech in pain. 

Coop picks you up by your throat, and you instantly move to fighting– your blade against his stomach, teeth gritted in resolute urge to kill– but he’s got his pistol at your neck, and the way he brushes it against you is almost like a lover’s embrace.

“One thing I hate is a fucking liar, Cola.” He grumbles, and you glare at him. “You’re not some innocent– why else do you got a fusion core in your pocket?”

“I never claimed I was a good woman.” You shake your head. “I just wonder why the Brotherhood, the Enclave, hell, even some of the Raiders… everyone wants the ultimate piece of the pie.”

“Besides, you’re the one who kept saying to survive out here I’d have to be a killer.” You remind him, and he looks down at you, thinking. “The world’s grieving– I don’t blame it for that, I feel the same way.”

You’ve still got a way with words, he thinks, and he was right. He can use you for his benefit.

“Say, Nuka-Cola. Why don’t we take some of those fuckers down?” He stills. “Not randoms. The power-hungry pie-eaters, like how you so eloquently put it.”

You don’t fully trust him again, but you’re into the prospect. You don’t want power, and you know he doesn’t either, but it’s not just looting. No, no, this is something akin to revenge.

“Alright.” You whisper.

“Alright. Okay, I won’t shoot if you don’t cut me.” He speaks softly, slowly, trying to cajole you out of attacking– and you move as he does. 

The threatening air of before is gone now, and the Ghoul has only a odd stare for you, something that makes you feel watched, almost reminding you of two centuries ago. It could be that he doesn’t trust you either– and so you walk onward with a gap between you two, heading to wherever a faction that needs fucking up could be.

/

Coop strolls inside the makeshift bar as you make conversation, staying within the shadows. It’s not on official Enclave grounds, it’s simply a nearby bar where members have been known to hang out. 

He doesn’t exactly mind being the one to pick up the slack of killing people– he can tell you’re good at charming people what with your former bombshell acting techniques, your silly, soft blinks, the way how your skin still looks smooth and untouched.

Was it all a lie with him? Aw, shit, why does he care? He really doesn’t have time to wonder if he’s been manipulated by you– he won’t be manipulated by you now, when he gets rid of many the people who represents obstacles in his way to finding still-existing Vault-Tec members.

Yes, that’s all this is to him. Another step to finding Moldaver, Henry MacLean, then his family if he’s lucky. And you’ll get some rage out of it, so he doesn’t even consider this to be that bad of an evasion of his. 

You laugh at something the guy next to you says. Coop catches a bit of it, of him asking how you look under that big jacket– and you mentioning you’d like to see him without that government get-up, too.

He grits his teeth. He’s not fucking in love with you, or anything stupidly juvenile like that– but he definitely felt something before when the two of you were fighting, or when you had conversations during the long, arduous talk here– you bit into a piece of his jerky when he offered it, and he laughed in surprise that you didn’t spit it out after he revealed it was feral ghoul ass jerky.

He also found that his gaze kept being drawn to you, too. You kept up with him, you were capable of hunting and searching on your own, you took lives when the need arose, and you had his back, even if he didn’t ask for it.

You made him subconsciously draw from the past, reminiscing about a time with you and a future he never thought he’d revisit. And now he can’t ignore that, so he needs to let off some steam.

There’s a splatter of blood across your face as the guy in front of you splutters, a bullet hole shot through his forehead. Little pieces of flesh hit the bar counter as he falls, and you gasp.

Coop is kind of quick with it now– he fires off, and because these “politicians” are unprepared, he’s able to kill off more than half.

You get over your shock quickly and fire your own tiny pistol at random, managing a few kills, but the Ghoul takes the last one and looks back at you, with an intrepid glance that you can’t figure out.

“What the hell was that?” You call out, and he doesn’t respond, instead beginning to pilfer the bodies, looking for shit to take. “Hey, Ghoul…”

“We came here to kill off those guys.” He answers you, but it’s not really an answer.

“Yeah, but I thought we agreed on discussing this shit as we were doing it. What happened to signalling?” You approach him, and as you get close enough, he turns around and stares unnervingly into your eyes.

“I did signal, sweetheart.” He clicks his tongue, lying through his teeth. 

“Bullshit.”

“No, I did.” He points at you. “It’s not my fault that you were too busy schmoozing and flirting to notice.”

“Wow.” You laugh exasperatedly at his antics, while he tilts his head. “You’re really obtuse, you know?”

“Nah. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re gonna say you’re not jealous–” At that word, the Ghoul snarls, ready to tell you exactly how little he cares for you, and you motion for him to zip it. “But at the very instance of seeing me flirt, mind you, in the most fake way possible, you lost it. You can’t even tell the difference between my genuine flirting and the fakest, schlockiest shit?”

“...” Coop frowns, because you’re right– he did kind of let his mind go wild over nothing in particular. 

Even worse, it means he’s made it apparent to you that he still harbours some feelings for your long-ago relationship. And that’s definitely a potential weakness– he does not want you to believe you can just work him around.

“Fuck you.” He spits, and instead of your face flinching in hurt, you stay neutral.

“I know you think you can come close and then shove me off every once in a while, because you’re fucking terrified of what it means that you’re not as hard as you pretended to be, that you still have a bit of human emotion inside you.” You tiptoe up to his face so he can’t avoid you. “I don’t care. That’s your problem.”

You turn to leave, to continue looting the bodies– and Coop’s hand wraps around your wrist. 

He hates what you’ve said, because it’s absolutely provoking the worst issue he has– he can never just let go. Two hundred years of this has made him a different creature altogether, spiteful; evil, but Coop knows as well as anyone that his transformation doesn’t negate his original nature, buried deep down.

It was a lie on his part– people are not as evil as he made them out to be, it’s the cycle of this situation that perpetuates that shit. Violence begets violence and all that. He can’t seem to say this to you, though, because he can tell you already probably knew that.

What is this fuckery, that you’re able to generate such a sense of guilt in him?

“Show it to me again. Genuine flirting.” he says instead, and he knows it’s stupid as hell to say something like this. “It’s been hundreds of years, you can’t expect me to fuckin’ remem…”

You grasp his arm back, making him quiet.

He’s half expecting you to punch him, but you see something you like– something that finally satisfies you, and you kiss his cheek, where you cut him much earlier in the day. It’s a soft bruise, mostly healed over in the way ghouls heal– but it’s overwhelmingly, embarrassingly hot there now as you pull away.

“I won’t forget the difference next time, Nuka-Cola.” He tips his hat at you in a mockery of his acting as a dashing cowboy once upon a time.

“Won’t be a next time.” You shrug. “I would hate to have to flirt with someone again just to get you to notice me.”

This severely bothers him, like you haven’t been an annoyance in his mind this whole time. And then he wonders if you’re an idiot, like you have no idea the effect you had on him back then, and even now. Hell, even that overly-chaste kiss has him remembering how he felt at Sebastian’s party when you humoured him the first time.

Do you think the only thing he’s burying is some empathy for the human race?

He can’t just let you be this wrong about this, no fucking way. And it’s with this in mind that the Ghoul feels his reserve melt as he tightly grabs your face and kisses you. Not a soft, movie-star kiss of the past, but one more hungry, his lips swallowing yours, pressed sternly, firmly, like he’s not gonna let you go. He parts his mouth ever so slightly, trying to catch a reaction from you.

You’re caught off guard, and he’s glad. He likes that you don’t know what to do with yourself, that for once you’re floundering rather than him, and you barely remember to kiss back until a couple seconds later when your hands grasp the base of his skull. You’re tracing grooves, calluses, skin that’s been eroded by his ghoulishness. You feel like he tastes ever so acidic– perhaps from the radiation emitting from his body– but some weird part of you loves it, and you part your lips as you kiss him harder, wanting to feel his tongue.

Your lips are just as soft as he remembers– but there’s more excitement now, more of an urgency as you kiss him, so he takes your invitation and swirls his tongue around on yours, disgustingly vulgar and perversely fast, yet lingering to enjoy the sensation, and he kinda loves being a corrupting force, being the ghoul who eats up this sweet human girl, and he tightens his grip– it almost hurts you, how tightly his hands weave around your waist suddenly– and then before you know it, he pulls away.

He wipes his mouth, never taking his eyes off of you.

“So. Did I taste like Nuka-Cola?” You joke, and he laughs in your face.

“Nope. Darlin, you haven’t been the Nuka-Cola girl for hundreds of years. They replaced you not long after you vanished.” He smiles widely at how your face drops. “I can show you some of the new girl’s billboards, if you’d like.”

“That would explain the lack of revenue.” You raise your eyebrows. “Then why do you still call me Nuka-Cola, Cola, etcetera?”

“That’s how I remember you.” It sounds too sweet, too nice that he keeps your nickname on tabs, so he twists his lips in a sneer. “Plus I don’t remember your name.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, finding his insult more funny than anything else, and turn around to take items from the bodies around you. “Okay, Mr. Howard.”

It was the optimal moment for you to joke back, calling him the Ghoul, but in classic you-fashion, you decided to extend an olive branch to him– reminding him that he’ll never just be the Ghoul to you. And even if Coop knows he’ll always remember you by Nuka-Cola, he has a fondness for you that he doesn’t neglect anymore– and he murmurs your name so softly, but just enough that you turn back and look at him, and smile with pleased recognition. 

[darylssunshine]

For You

rockstar!daryl au

word count: 1.4k

a/n: finally wrote another fic! my motivation was absolutely crushed by outside circumstances, but this au was too good to pass up. so sorry again for the unexpected hiatus, glad to be writing again 🥳

Your margarita sat empty on the counter before you, beads of condensation dripping down onto the stone below. 

Your friend had told you about this “cool bar downtown,” and, to their credit, it was pretty cool. The lighting was low, with only a few hanging lights illuminating the small space. The color scheme was dark and monotoned, but still tasteful and rugged, with splashes of red accenting the stools and tables. The atmosphere and energy were dark but still inviting to customers and passersby. The tiny bar was filled with the deep sounds of a Creed cover band that was currently playing on the small stage near the back half of the building.

You and the aforementioned friend had only been sat down at the bar for about 20 minutes until a woman came up and started flirting with them. One thing led to another and they both excused themselves to go to the family bathroom to “freshen up.” You and them both knew that wasn't what was happening in there.

Although you were certainly very happy for them, it left you sitting at the bar alone, and not really in a drinking mood anymore. 

The sound of applause snapped you out of your thoughts. The cover band had just gotten done playing their last song. They said their goodbyes and thank you's to the crowd, and even threw one of their guitar picks into the small but loud gathering of onlookers, and a scream rang out, presumably from the woman that had just caught it.

Concerts had always been a staple in your life, and you would go to one every week if you had the money for it. You always just felt at home in the loud and chaotic atmosphere, singing along to your favorite songs with thousands of other people. While, obviously this is not nearly on the same scale, you wanted to check it out anyway. One of the main things that sold you on coming to this bar in the first place was the Deftones cover band that was coincidentally coming up next after the brief intermission. So, you slid off of your stool and sauntered over to the stage area.

You stood at the back of the crowd and leaned on a nearby wooden support beam. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, eagerly waiting for the next band. A small projector was set up on one of the support beams that projected the Deftones logo onto the black curtains that covered the main stage, giving the members access to freely move and switch out their equipment. 

After a couple more minutes of leaning against the support beam and letting your eyes wander around the bar, your eyes snapped back to the stage, as the guitar riff for Shove It started playing behind the curtain. This got a lot of people's attention, some of them yelling and shouting a mixture of excited “yeah's!” The band drew the riff out for another minute until the curtain was abruptly pulled to the side, revealing the guitarist, bassist, drummer, and the lead singer. 

You immediately started lightly banging your head to the beat while scanning your eyes over the rugged group. Each of them had sort of the same look; The body and wardrobe of a divorced dad that didn't have custody of their kids. However, the contrasting guitarist certainly did halt your gaze.

Wavy, long, brunette hair drifted from side to side as his fingers danced across the fretboard. His broad shoulders could be seen tensing up, even through the faded Slayer shirt he had on. You only caught glimpses of his face with how often his hair was in the way, but you could clearly see his scruffy goatee and piercing blue eyes.

You stepped away from the support beam and wedged yourself into the small crowd. Yes, obviously, you wanted to hear the music better and enjoy the experience more thoroughly, but the way that the veins popped out on the guitarist's hands had you begging to get a closer look. 

You managed to squeeze your way into the front of the crowd as Mascara started to play, and your eyes were glued to the rugged guitarist's hands as he played the famous six note riff. But what you didn't realize is that he had started to notice your staring, considering that it was a small crowd. When you managed to rip your eyes away from his hands to his face, he was staring directly at you. Your eyes went wide as you were met with his slight smirk from the stage, followed by the man mouthing the words ‘You're staring, sweetheart.’ Your ears immediately felt hot as you ducked your gaze away and covered your mouth. Did that really just happen? The man was amused by your reaction, chuckling under his breath. 

After a minute of staring at the ground to keep your composure, you looked back up to the stage, only to see the man had moved closer to the front of the stage, biceps now fully in view. You stood stunned, barely bobbing your head to the music, eyes flicking back and forth from his face to his arms. He took a side glance to gauge your reaction, raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Through the next several songs, you two had the occasional interaction. From glances, to mouthing ‘You're so hot!’ which made the man roll his eyes in amusement.

It unfortunately had come to the final song of the set list, and the riff for Risk started playing. You screamed louder than you did for any of the other songs, because Risk was one of your favorites. The man took note of this, and hatched a plan. 

For most of the song, he played as normal, whipping the long hair out of his eyes to occasionally take glances at you.

But on the final chorus of the song, he walked to the front of the stage and began to sing into the microphone along with the lead singer, looking you in the eyes the entire time the verse was leaving his lips.

I know what to say to take you 

Higher, higher

No one else can take you higher

But I will try

I'll find a way

I'll confuse them

But I think I can try

I will save your life

I will save your life

I'll try

I'll find a way

I'll confuse them

But I think I can try

I will save your life

I will save your life

I'll try

For you

For you

You were so overwhelmed with shock and the warmth radiating off your face that you didn't register that the show was over and people were now yelling and applauding. You physically shook your head to break your trance that you were in and joined in on the applause, looking at one man on the stage. He spared you a side glance with his signature smirk, recognizing your high-pitched applause from the rest of the crowd. 

When the applause had died down to just chatter and people had begun to go back to the bar or their tables, he glanced at you again and held up his pointer finger, signaling you to wait. He went over to the opposite side of the stage and grabbed a fine print Sharpie.

Of course, you were still standing near the stage, definitely not still admiring the anonymous guitarist. You had let your gaze wander to the rest of the bar when you heard a raspy “Hey! Sweetheart!” It was him. He motioned with his pointer finger to come closer to the stage, and you moved without a second thought. 

“Hold out yer arm.” He said nonchalantly, with an unexpected southern drawl. You did what you were told, and he gently turned it palm side up, and you blushed even more at the sudden contact. He then took the cap of the pen off with his teeth and wrote his number on your forearm, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around your wrist.

Snapping the cap back on, he smirked once again.

“Yer hearts beatin’ pretty fast there, darlin’. Bet I know why.”

Still having a loose hold on your wrist, it brought it up to his mouth and gave it a deliberately slow kiss, eyes not leaving yours.

Finally letting go, he moved a stray hair out of his face and remarked, “Name’s Daryl, by the way. Glad ya enjoyed the show.” Followed by a wink.

You watched in flustered shock as he casually went back to his band members to chat and put away their gear. 

Emily was never going to believe this.

[spreadwardiard]

Home is Where You Are p2

First part here

Summary: Megatronus comes home after a fight to his new home in Iacon, excited to reunite with his conjunx.

Megatronus was in a foul mood when he stepped off the transport platform and into the streets of lower Iacon. His trip back to Kaon hadn’t gone exactly as planned. He’d won his fight, of course, but the joy of victory felt hollow when combined with the rest of his visit. Just as he had expected, many of his followers were ill at ease over his relocation to Iacon, and they had made their displeasure known. 

It mattered little to them when he explained the political reasons for the change. They only saw it as him running off with his higher caste lover to live in luxury while they lamented with their scraps.  They were wrong, of course, but that didn’t stop them from asking questions and doubting his sincerity as their leader. It was a pain in his aft, but one he couldn’t afford to ignore. 

Their hab wasn’t even luxurious, especially by Iaconian standards.  It was in the lower levels, in a section of the city reserved for manual laborers. Its proximity to the docks meant that there was little peace. Shipments came in all throughout the cycle with little regard for the resident's recharge needs, and the ground shook periodically when the largest of transport trucks took their goods from the docks into central Iacon. Combine that with the relatively high crime rate in the area, and he may as well have been in a mid-tier neighborhood in Kaon. In Iacon, this was a slum. 

The few saving graces it offered were an affordable price, fast access to the transport station and the size of the habs available. Orion had refused to budge on that last issue. Megatronus was used to shoving his large frame into spaces too small for him, but Orion insisted on finding something they could both fit comfortably in. 

Megatronus rounded the corner and ex-vented heavily as their hab came into view. He wanted to force the foulness of his mood aside before he made it home. The last thing he wanted was for Orion to ask him what was wrong, especially when all he wanted to do was kiss the mech senseless and forget about his woes. He could think about them all tomorrow, hopefully after a sensual reunion with his conjunx and a well deserved recharge in his own berth. 

The thought finally brought a smile to his face as he punched in their lock code. There was absolutely nothing that would ruin the rest of this evening for him. He stepped inside, eager to greet his little archivist. 

He only got two steps past the door before his pedes were suddenly out from under him. Megatronus didn’t even have time to brace himself. His helm crashed back against the door and his aft hit the ground with a soft thud, cushioned only by the sound proofed padded tiles that lined the floor of the whole hab. 

The gladiator groaned and gritted his dentae together as the stars assaulting his optical inputs subsided. His would-be assassin lie scrunched up at his pedes: the custom-made rug bearing his movement’s logo that Orion had surprised him with as a homecoming gift when they had first moved into this place. The same rug that had been torturing him ever since they had put it on the blasted floor. 

Megatronus snatched the offending hunk of imported fabric in a rage, ready to rip it into a million tiny pieces. He didn’t know why the rug had it out for him. No one else had any problems walking over it. It was only he who it seemed to target with its mythical ability to take a mech to the floor. 

The soft, purple and black mesh seemed so unassuming in his servos… so easy to shred for its continued insults to his pride. But that would upset Orion… He in-vented deeply, and squeezed the rug in a momentary death grip before tossing it to the side. It wasn’t worth upsetting Orion over and ruining his first night back home. 

After hauling himself back up onto his pedes, he spared a glance back at the door, which had a brand-new helm shaped dent marring its otherwise pristine surface. Slag... He’d have to call someone to fix that before Soundwave saw it. He’d never hear the end of it if his spymaster knew he was still tripping over that fibrous death trap. 

Megatronus forced the thoughts from his mind. His war with the rug would resume another cycle. The lights were dimmed in their living area, and Orion was nowhere to be seen. It was late, he probably hadn’t waited up, which was disappointing, but understandable. At least he hadn’t been up to hear him slamming his helm into the door. 

He snorted at the thought. It would have been embarrassing for Orion to see him taken down by a rug. This was a small blessing, no matter how disappointing it was that he wouldn’t be having the reunion he’d fantasized about. This was fine. It just meant that the next morning would be that much more fun. 

He flicked the lights completely off in the living room before he turned down the hallway. Recharge sounded nice, now that he thought about it. The door opened for him, automatically, and he couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face as his optics settled on Orion Pax draped over the desk at the window, deep in recharge. 

It took only a glance to see that he had dozed off while looking over one of Megatronus’ upcoming speeches. His Archivist was ever dutiful to him and their cause. He should have expected to find him here, like this. 

Love wasn’t something that Megatronus was great at expressing. He wasn’t an overtly affectionate mech, and when he was, it came off more as possessive. He also wasn’t all that great at verbally expressing his more tender emotions. Orion made it seem natural and easy. Orion could turn the normal task of editing into a declaration of devotion without uttering a single glyph.

The best that he could do was a clumsy attempt at gentleness as he scooped his Conjunx out of the chair and into his arms, grimacing as Orion’s helm clanked softly against his chassis, before slipping him as carefully as he could onto the berth. Orion didn’t budge from his slumber, and Megatronus huffed a quiet chuckle at that. No one recharged deeper than Orion Pax. 

He was lucky. He could admit that. Everyone knew Orion deserved better, including himself. Some were brave enough to even say so to his face. Even though Orion Pax insisted that he was exactly where he wanted to be, Megatronus found it difficult to shrug off his insecurities regarding the matter. 

He rounded the berth, and dimmed the lights to the lowest setting before finally allowing himself to lie down beside his beloved. He pressed a single kiss to the crest of Orion’s helm before tucking him against his frame, the way he knew Orion liked. Megatronus had missed him more than he would be able to say out loud and judging by how Orion had instinctually nuzzled into him, he’d missed him too. 

It was good to be home.

[sirisim4]

Maya Delorez 5 piece set - for rider & horse

I have worked on quite a big set for you guys this week. And here it is! This set includes a polo shirt in six swatches, a baseball cap, a dressage pad in black and white, a jumping pad in black and white and an exercise blanket in maya-style!

In the pictures below you can find more information on the set.

These are all saddlepads. The dressage saddlepads have to be used with a certain dressage saddle which I mention in the download section.

The exercise blanket with Maya logo

All polo shirt swatches

DOWNLOADS

Firstly, the REQUIRED meshes: Exercise rug mesh - download Dressage saddle (mesh for saddlepad) - download Polo shirt mesh - download

The set - SFS download

Custom content from other creators I used in the pictures: Dressage saddle - @minervamagicka Simple Snaffle bridle - @studiosweetpeacc​ Eyes default preset -  @someone-elsa Skin default preset -  @minervamagicka

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

Mc tufts custom rugs, what would the lis do as the move in together?

I'm not sure if I completely understand the question, but the way I'm interpreting it is how the LIs would decorate if they moved in with the mc and/or what rug design would they want the MC to make? Garret's general decorating style is traditional elegant nautical. As for the rug, I think something nautical or even a a map of Saint Anne's would be right up his alley.

Marcelo's decorating style is pretty non existent. If I had to put a label on it, it'd probably be eclectic minimalism . He just collects random stuff that he likes and there really isn't a rhyme or reason to it aside from the fact that he likes it. In terms of a rug design, he'd probably like something food related.

Camilla's decorating style is typical gamer girl but with some witchy elements sprinkled throughout. As for the rug, I'd probably say her personal brand logo would be ideal.

Rita's style is still fully developing. She's still trying to figure herself out and still hasn't fully finished unpacking. In terms of rug designs she'd love one of her favorite books.

Teagan's general decorating style is expensive luxury mixed in with some hipster elements. They care about living well and making sure others know just how well off they are. As for a rug, they'd probably like something that reminds them of you or a self portrait of themselves.

[stelly22]

My girl did a custom rug of my logo for me. I have the best girlfriend of the whole universe im v lucky🤧💕💕

[skullaton]

Chapter 2: You should head back

Wally Darling / GN Reader Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Rating: M

Summary:

The city is full of people. Then why did it feel so lonely? Memories of clinking bottles and dazzling neon lights flickered through your mind. Misty, car filled streets with humans, but no humanity. A bridge and a phonebooth. And a sweet voice that wanted you to come home. You’ve wandered too far, and you don’t know how to get back. But don’t worry! You’ve made some friends from a colourful town that can help you!

TW: Childhood trauma, scopophobia, alcohol references AO3 link: here Wally logo by Clown

A low buzz of static hummed throughout your living room.

You were alone again.

It wasn’t new to be alone.

Your mom worked multiple shifts, and your teenage sister was often out late.

Your dad had been out of the picture for a long time.

You sat on the verdant shag rug as you leafed through the spines of old VHS tapes on your entertainment centre. Tempting titles such as Pokemon or Doraemon called for you to pick them, but there was one that you always meandered back to.

There was a worn, yellow plastic tape, the sticker long faded from years of use.

Welcome Home.

Your mom picked it out at a second-hand shoppe - probably to get you off her back while she shopped for other things.

It quickly became one of your favourite shows.

It felt like a nice little respite from the world. A home away from home.

You also loved the fact that the artist segment changes every time you watch it!

It must be a new feature for VCR players, because none of your other tapes did that!

You popped the VHS into the player, the gears winding the tape.

The rainbow show lit up the room, like a beacon of life in this dreary existence.

The opening title of the show rolled. You hummed to it as you got comfortable on the floor, your tiny legs kicking in the air as you lay on your stomach.

The segment started, the main character behind an easel peaking out, paintbrush in hand.

“Hello, neighbour!”

----

Your heavy eyelids blinked as consciousness pulled you out of your deep slumber. You sucked in a deep breath of air as you stretched your sore limbs.

What a day, yesterday.

You rolled to your side as the reality of waking up connected in your brain. You tiredly stared at the rows of storeroom shelves, internally cursing yourself.

Guess it was all real.

You fumbled out of your blanket cocoon and wobbled your way to the door. You were greeted with the same towering, multi-limbed creature from yesterday. There was something comforting about him today, though. He felt more realistic. Kind.

He was stocking his shelves dutifully before looking up to you. He held in a chuckle. “Good morning! You look like you slept well.”

You gave him a groggy ‘huh?’

He responded simply by pointing at your hair.

Your hand went up to touch the literal bird’s nest that sat on your scalp. You hurriedly ran your fingers through the locks, flattening out whatever imperfections. An embarrassed blush crossed your features.

He chuckled once again. “If you want, you can use the shower. I can find you a fresh pair of clothes.”

“You sell clothes?” Your sleepy voice cracked in surprise.

“More like I special order clothes for Julie. The only thing is that silly little girl always forgets to pick up her orders.”

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “Wouldn’t she be mad if you looked through her orders?”

He gave a dismissive wave of a hand as he moved his way to a few boxes behind the front counter. “If I told her that it was for you, she’d probably assume it was for ‘dress up party’ purposes. So I don’t think she’d mind.”

You tried not to think about the ethical and legal implications of going through your customer’s stuff. Arguing probably wouldn’t help you in this case.

He pulled out a pair of high waisted flare jeans and a muted rainbow top. He offered them with one set of hands, while the others went to seal the boxes back up.

Dang, multitasking to the extreme.

You gratefully accepted the clothes. “You sure this is okay…?”

He gave you a caring smile, dismissing your concern, “Go get washed up.”

You bowed your head in thanks, padding your way to the bathroom.

**

A shower will help you feel human again in this insane puppet world.

Turning on the faucet, hot steam clouded the tiny washroom. Dipping into the warm waters, you felt your woes and worries wash down the drain.

Your mind wandered to Howdy. He sure helped you a lot. His generosity knows no bounds. Maybe you should help him in some way? Maybe pay back your debt by cleaning up the bodega a bit?

Yeah, that sounds good. It must be hard being the only worker.

You stepped out of the shower, wrapping a spare towel around your body. You swiped a hand across the clouded mirror, giving a good look at yourself.

That husk of a human from last night looked more alive. Colour was back in your face, and the fine lines around your eyes seemed to have lightened.

Those retinol treatments you were doing probably helped a lot with your complexion.

Despite everything, you’re still you!

Tossing on the retro styled clothes, you embarked on the new day.

**

”What can I do to help?”

“Really, you don’t need to do anything.”

You released a stubborn sigh, arms folding across your chest. You stared at the bug man from across the counter. “I really want to help you, Howdy. I want to help pay off my debt.”

The salesman weighed the options. He gave a resigned sigh. “Alright, but you have to follow the price guides of the bodega!”

You quirked a brow. “Price guides?”

He gestured to the ‘100% off!’ sign on the window pane.

Your brows furrowed as you scoffed. “How does that even work?”

“Well, people pay in jokes, ideas, or observations!” He then pointed to an apple display adjacent to the front counter. A sign on it read ‘1 Apple for 1 Joke’.

There’s no way these silly Muppets live in capitalism-free town. “How does commerce even work, then? How do you pay for goods being imported to your shop?”

Howdy put a finger up to his lips as he smirked. “Trade secrets! Maybe you’ll find out some day, young Grasshopper!”

You released a defeated huff.

“Besides, there’s more to life then pointless currency. Sometimes the most valuable things are your friend’s company and wise words!”

They really did live in a commune. In a sense, you envied them.

The morning tolled on, and he instructed little things on how he ran the bodega. You helped by stocking some shelves and sweeping the floors. Before you knew it, it was midday.

The door chimed as a pair of customers sauntered in. Your breath hitched as you saw a 7 foot, bumbling blue dog plod through the doorway. You were tempted to hide behind a shelf,… that is, until your eyes landed on the shorter man walking behind him.

A smile stretched across your face, “Hello, Wally!”

The cardigan-clad puppet gave you an all-encompassing grin, “Hello, neighbour!”

“Oh, is this the kid you were talking about?” the dog rumbled in a deep baritone.

Your skin prickled at the term ‘kid.’ You were quite obviously not a kid.

Wally regarded the towering puppet with a nod. The giant mock Blue’s Clues character offered a wave, “Welcome to Home! The next Big City this side of the forest! I’m Barnaby, by the way.”

You assuaged the temporary anger and introduced yourself with a little wave. Howdy, who was behind the front counter, called out to the new patrons. “What can I get for you fellas?”

Barnaby put up two fingers, “Two hot dogs, please!”

“Two dogs wrapped in yellow and red bow ties, with all the fixin's, comin’ right up!” The caterpillar’s limbs went to work as he swiveled around to the hot dog machine. He loaded the dogs up with whipped cream, onions, ketchup, mustard, and a cherry.

Imagining the taste made you shiver.

He offered the food to the pair, while another set of hands punched in the order on the cash register. “And how will you be paying today?”

Barnaby gave a smug smile. “Why did the baby cookie cry?”

A pause.

“Its mother was a wafer so long.”

Howdy erupted in a boisterous laugh, one of his hands going down to slap his knee. Even you smirked at the atrocious dad joke. He rubbed a tear away from his eye as he regarded Wally. “And how about you?”

Wally gave his signature hum as he rolled his head to the side. “What do you call an insect who can’t get out of bed?”

You peered at him expectantly.

“A bedbug!”

Howdy offered a sympathetic chuckle, the joke not landing as hard as Barnaby’s. He punched the jokes on the register, the receipt screeching out as it was printed.

“You tried, fella,” Barnaby put a big paw on Wally’s shoulder.

“Can’t top the town jokester, after all,” the smaller puppet winked up at his friend and they both chuckled.

With hot dogs in hand, they started to make their way out. As Barnaby ducked out of of the tiny doorframe, Wally stood in place for a moment.

It felt like minutes pass until he finally regards you. “Would you like to come with us? We can introduce you to the rest of the neighbours.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you considered. You still felt guilty about not paying back all of what Howdy has done for you.

“Go meet everyone, Grasshopper,” the voice next to you pulled you out of your thoughts, the new nickname cooling any form of anxiety that you harnessed. “You can’t figure out how to get out of here without friends, right?”

You offered Howdy a kind smile. “Thanks.”

He shooed you off with your new friend, allowing you to step free into the rainbow world of Home.

Wally and you caught up to Barnaby, who was happily snacking on his treat.

**

The three of you trekked throughout the colour radiant town, making pit stops in front of each of the townsfolk’s homes.

The first person you all ran into was the mailman, Eddie. He curtly greeted himself, but just as quickly excused himself to get back to work.

You watched him run off into the distance before regarding your friends. “You reckon he’d know the roads out of here?”

Wally tilted his head as he observed you, still just casually holding his hot dog. “I think his route takes him further from the City.”

You gave a sad, thoughtful hum before Wally and Barnaby, the persuasive of friends, convinced you to meet with every one of the neighbours.

Poppy, who lived in a barn, was elated to see you again. She gave praises and crooned over how you were a ‘poor lost duckling.’ She vowed to cook for you if you ever needed food for the trip.

The next new person was a literal star who lived in a theatre. Sally was an eccentric puppet who was working on a set for an upcoming play. When you spoke to her about your story, you can tell she was taking internal notes. Please, Sally, don’t make your lost voyage into a Shakespearean tragedy.

Julie was as excited as ever to see you again. She complimented your outfit, stating that it looks ‘oddly familiar.’ Hm. You wonder why. She offered if you needed anymore clothes, she’s always willing to play dress up.

Frank was out in his lawn, taking notes on a butterfly perched on a flower. You all decided not to bother him. Butterfly watching seemed stressful, as is.

Now you all stood in front of Barnaby’s doghouse. He was hungrily staring at Wally’s hot dog, who, to your humour, was carrying the snack around like it was a show and tell specimen.

“You going to finish that, buddy?” Barnaby rumbled.

Wally shook his head and offered the undisturbed snack to his friend. The dog practically wolfed the food down in a blink.

The yellow puppet clapped his hands to get the remaining crumbs off his palms while Barnaby wiped the remnants on his own forearm.

“I think this is a wonderful day to sun bathe,” Barnaby started before dipping into his yard. “You guys comin’?”

Wally hummed at the offer before shaking his head politely, “I still need to show them Home.”

Barnaby gave a carefree shrug, “Suit yourself. Y’know where to find me.” With that, he sauntered into his littered yard and found a nice batch of grass to plop down on.

You regarded Wally with a quirked brow, “’Home’? Isn’t that just the town name?”

He tutted with a tiny smirk, “Silly, silly.” He didn’t explain, instead marched up the hill to the centre of town. A red house sat on the crest, it’s windows watching you.

Wait… watching?

You stumbled back as you stifled a yelp, the giant windows blinking at your reaction. You tried to scramble behind the short puppet man.

He simply shook his head with a chuckle. He gestures to the sentient house, “This is Home! This is where I live!”

Home made some thumping noises in greeting.

You sucked in a breath as you watched in horror. Your hand came up to grasp your forehead. “Okay, I finally accepted puppets. Houses now? I must be dead. There’s no way this is real.”

“If you’re dead,” Wally looked back at you with sleepy eyes, voice nonchalant, “then this must be heaven!”

You swallowed thickly, not sure how to process his words. You sucked in another big breath to calm your trembling body and forced a weak wave at Home.

Home waved its shutters in greeting.

Well… it’s not trying to eat you like Monster House. Maybe it really isn’t that bad?

Wally broke his barrier between you and Home, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. He maneuvered his way to an easel that sat just outside his home. He placidly began to pack up the art supplies that was left outside. A half painted picture of an apple lay on the canvas, probably abandoned this morning as he opted to hang with Barnaby.

The tension you held in your shoulders ease as you watch his easygoing pace.

There really is a charm about him that can ease your worries.

He briefly glanced back to catch you staring, a soft smile gracing his plush lips. “Penny for your thoughts?”

A blush shot to your face as you looked away, embarrassed. Your heart hammered as you focused on anything but him. You cleared your throat as a thought began tumbling out, “It’s nice here, but I’m wondering if… maybe you have any suggestions on how to leave?”

Wally noticeably tenses. He was quiet for a few beats, his lazy eyes never leaving yours. “I suppose I can paint you a map! But…”

He paused, his expression softening, tone becoming more sympathetic. “It must have been pretty serious for you to get lost like you did. Do you really want to go back? You wouldn’t be a burden here in Home! You’re always welcome.”

It felt like time stood still as his words washed over you.

There was a heaviness to it all, something akin to scratching at a mental scab. A truth that you didn’t want to uncover the band aid of.

You stood in silence as you mulled over the implications.

He watched you as your thoughts clouded your features. He observed the storm in your brain get cloudier before deciding to intervene. He extended a hand out to caress your arm, the felt touch anchoring you back to reality. His voice was low and pleasant, “Take your time. It’s a big decision, and there’s no need to rush. I’ll be here for you if you need it.”

The pressure from your jaw released, the tension that built up now toppled like building blocks.

He really was a good person.

“Thank you, Wally.”

He only offered a cute feline-like smile. **

It wasn’t long before the sky became a vibrant array of pinks and blues. The sun was settling just over the horizon as you and Wally decided to part from each other.

You made your way back to Howdy’s Place, giving the caterpillar a quiet greeting. He was starting to close up shop, and you decided to help him - much to his dismay.

With the two of you, the shop was closed and cleaned in record time.

He wiped the sweat off his brow, his face bearing a proud smile. “You really help a lot, young grasshopper.”

You shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “You should eat some food. I think I have a spare salad in the back.”

You blinked at the thought of eating. Come to think of it, you didn’t feel hungry at all today.

How strange.

You decided to chock it up to stress from a new environment.

You thanked him for his generosity before wishing him a good night. You dipped into the backroom to locate the fresh greens. Chomping on the leaves, your mind wandered to the day.

The day felt… nice. Almost surreal.

You almost felt like you belonged.

But… you really should head home.

… Right … ?

[globalfloor]

If you are looking for the manufacturers of Extra-Large Custom Size Rugs email us at info@surekasgroup.com or whats ap at +91-9839141651 for more.

[dippedanddripped]

Stüssy & Levi’s® announced today the launch of their latest collaborative collection, set for Spring/Summer 2023. The beloved brands have shared roots in California – Stüssy was born from the Southern California surf scene in the late ’80s and early ’90s while Levi’s® was founded in San Francisco 170 years ago. 2023 marks the 150th anniversary of Levi’s® 501® Jeans, one of the most enduring icons of global style. The range from Stüssy & Levi’s® features a pair of 501® Jeans and a modified Type II Trucker Jacket – two classic Levi’s® silhouettes reimagined with Stüssy’s signature design aesthetic. The 501® Jean comes in a rugged, worn indigo wash. An original fit jean cut with a straight leg, 5-pocket styling, and signature button fly with co-branded shanks. Featuring an embossed Stüssy & Levi’s® motif on the front left and back right legs, plus a custom co-branded back patch combining the Levi’s® Two Horse Pull and Stüssy logos. To commemorate the 150th anniversary of 501® Jeans, the Stüssy & Levi’s® 501® includes a special edition pocket bag print and anniversary pocket flasher. The Type II Trucker Jacket comes in a rugged, worn indigo wash to match the 501® Jeans. The jacket is modified with a boxy fit, relaxed armhole, added welt pockets, and includes a corduroy collar, co-branded button shanks, Baja-inspired pocket bags and inside lining with Stüssy’s eight-ball logo printed. The back of the jacket features an embossed motif, merging a classic Levi’s® button shank graphic with Stüssy’s subversive Double S design, resulting in bold visual & tactile textures. Stüssy & Levi’s® launches worldwide on February 24th, 2023. The collection will be available for purchase on Levi.com, the Levi’s® App, select Levi’s® Stores, Stussy. com select Stüssy chapter stores, select Dover Street Market locations.

[yongstarshaker]

Why Custom Shaker Bottles Is On Hot Demand These Days?

Custom shaker bottles offer a personalized touch to anyone wanting a bottle for herself/himself. Right from blending your favorite protein powders to shake-a-drink or consume BCAAs, shakers have come a long way to fulfill those practical needs of on-the-spot drink preparation.

In the past decade, we have seen a steady increase of gym-goers or people who love working out at home gym or nearby parks, etc. Shaker bottles are handy & practical to carry around, especially given their sturdy & comfort-friendly design. Comparing them to normal bottles would be a grave injustice, especially when the latter are only useful for normal drinks or beverages.

Custom shaker bottles have got off to an amazing start of hot demands because of a myriad of reasons, which include:

Customized options to include name & logo

Handy vessels with practical features

Versatile design to prepare shakes

Flip-top closure to prevent accidental spills

Rugged frame to mix protein shakes, BCAAs, etc.

While anyone would look at it as normal bottles, people who love making a shake would rather dig deeper into the practicality of custom protein shakers. Say, for example, normal bottles would fatigue you while preparing a shake, but the lightweight design of shakers allows easily holding and shaking the bottle. The functional and safe shakers with 100% BPA-free and PVC-free materials have the maximum takers.

Next time, when you are shopping online for a shaker, don’t forget to check out the latest designs for custom protein shakers to pick a favorite.

[carpetcrafts-blog]

Custom Hospitality Carpets and Hand Tufted Rugs for Premium Spaces!

In the world of interior design, the importance of high-quality flooring solutions cannot be overstated. For premium hospitality spaces such as luxury hotels, resorts, and upscale restaurants, the right carpet or rug can serve as the foundation of the entire design aesthetic. Custom hospitality carpets and rugs are essential elements for creating environments that exude sophistication, comfort, and individuality. This article explores the unique attributes and hand-tufted rugs, focusing on their role in transforming premium spaces into visually striking and functional areas that leave a lasting impression on guests.

The Role of Carpets and Rugs in Hospitality Design

Carpets and rugs are much more than decorative items in a hospitality setting. They play a pivotal role in creating a welcoming ambiance, enhancing the overall guest experience, and contributing to the brand identity of the establishment. In premium hospitality spaces, every design element must align with the overarching goal of offering guests an elevated and unforgettable experience. This is where custom carpets and hand tufted rugs come into play.

Aesthetic Appeal:��The design of carpets and rugs sets the tone for the entire space. In luxury hotels and high-end restaurants, the flooring needs to complement the architecture and decor while adding depth, texture, and color. Whether it’s a contemporary hotel lobby or a traditional fine-dining restaurant, custom carpets and rugs can be tailored to meet specific design requirements, enhancing the aesthetic appeal of the space.

Comfort and Acoustics: Beyond aesthetics, carpets and rugs offer functional benefits such as comfort underfoot and improved acoustics. In high-traffic areas like hotel lobbies or banquet halls, soft carpets can reduce noise, creating a serene atmosphere. Additionally, they provide comfort for guests, making walking or standing more pleasant over extended periods.

Durability and Practicality: Hospitality spaces experience significant foot traffic, so it is crucial for carpets and rugs to be durable and easy to maintain. Custom carpets made with high-quality materials can withstand wear and tear, ensuring that they remain in good condition over time. Hand-tufted rugs, known for their intricate craftsmanship, can also be designed with durability in mind, offering both beauty and longevity.

Custom Hospitality Carpets: Tailoring Design for Unique Spaces

Custom hospitality carpets offer limitless design possibilities, allowing designers and architects to create floor coverings that perfectly match the vision of a space. Whether it’s a large-scale ballroom, a chic hotel suite, or a high-end restaurant, custom carpets provide an opportunity to add a personalized touch that reflects the brand and enhances the guest experience.

1. Design Flexibility

One of the greatest advantages of custom carpets is their flexibility in terms of design. From choosing the right color palette to selecting patterns and textures, custom carpets can be created to align with the specific theme of the hospitality space. For example, a beachfront resort may opt for a carpet design that incorporates soothing, ocean-inspired colors and patterns, while an urban luxury hotel might choose bold, geometric patterns that reflect its modern aesthetic.

The ability to customize extends to the size and shape of the carpet as well. In irregularly shaped rooms or areas with unique architectural features, custom carpets can be designed to fit perfectly, ensuring a seamless and cohesive look. Designers can also experiment with layering different carpet designs, creating visual interest and defining distinct areas within open spaces like lobbies or lounges.

2. Branding Opportunities

In the hospitality industry, branding is key. Custom carpets offer an opportunity to incorporate brand elements directly into the design of the space. For example, a luxury hotel can have its logo or signature colors woven into the carpet, reinforcing brand identity throughout the guest’s journey. This subtle but impactful use of branding can enhance the overall experience and leave a lasting impression.

Custom carpets also allow designers to integrate cultural or regional influences into the design. For hotels located in culturally rich destinations, incorporating traditional patterns or motifs into the carpet design can create an authentic connection with the local environment, providing guests with a deeper sense of place.

3. Material and Construction Options

When it comes to custom hospitality carpets, the choice of materials and construction methods plays a significant role in determining the quality and longevity of the product. High-end materials such as wool, silk, or nylon are commonly used in luxury carpets due to their durability, softness, and ability to hold color well.

Advanced manufacturing techniques allow for intricate designs and patterns to be created with precision. Whether it’s a large-scale repeat pattern or a detailed, bespoke design, modern carpet manufacturing can accommodate even the most complex of designs. For premium spaces, choosing a custom carpet made from high-quality materials ensures that it not only looks stunning but also performs well in terms of durability and maintenance.

Hand-Tufted Rugs: A Touch of Craftsmanship for Luxury Interiors

Hand-tufted rugs are a popular choice for premium hospitality spaces because of their handcrafted nature, exquisite detail, and the ability to create custom designs. Unlike mass-produced machine-made rugs, Rugs are made using a time-honored technique that involves inserting yarn into a fabric backing using a hand-held tufting gun. This method allows for highly customized designs and the use of a wide range of colors and materials.

1. The Appeal of Hand-Tufted Rugs

Hand-tufted rugs are renowned for their rich textures, detailed patterns, and luxurious feel. In hospitality spaces, they are often used in areas where guests can closely appreciate the craftsmanship, such as in hotel suites, private dining rooms, or executive lounges. The tactile quality of a rug adds a sense of warmth and opulence to the space, making it feel more intimate and inviting.

Because hand-tufted rugs are crafted by skilled artisans, they can be made to order in any size, shape, or design. This makes them an ideal choice for hospitality spaces where custom design is essential. Designers can choose from a wide range of materials, including wool, silk, cotton, and even synthetic fibers, depending on the desired look and performance characteristics of the rug.

2. Durability and Versatility

Despite their handcrafted nature, hand-tufted rugs are surprisingly durable, making them suitable for high-traffic areas in hospitality environments. The tufting technique creates a dense pile that can withstand regular use, while the backing ensures that the rug maintains its shape and structure over time. With proper care, a hand-tufted rug can last for many years, maintaining its beauty and functionality.

In addition to durability, hand-tufted rugs offer versatility in design. Whether the space calls for a bold statement piece or a subtle, understated design, hand-tufted rugs can be created to suit any aesthetic. Their ability to incorporate multiple colors and textures makes them a favorite among designers looking to create visually dynamic spaces.

Enhancing Premium Spaces with Custom Carpets and Hand Tufted Rugs

In premium hospitality spaces, every detail matters. The choice of flooring can elevate the entire design and create a cohesive, luxurious environment that guests will remember. They offer a unique combination of beauty, comfort, and durability, making them an ideal choice for luxury hotels, resorts, and restaurants.

By investing in custom carpets and rugs, hospitality brands can create spaces that not only reflect their unique identity but also enhance the overall guest experience. Whether it’s through bold, custom-designed carpets that make a statement in a hotel lobby or rugs that add a touch of craftsmanship to a private dining room, these floor coverings are essential elements of design in premium spaces.

In conclusion, custom hospitality carpets and rugs are more than just functional items—they are integral to creating memorable, premium environments that leave a lasting impression on guests. Through thoughtful design, high-quality materials, and expert craftsmanship, these bespoke floor coverings can transform any hospitality space into an oasis of luxury and style.

#hospitalitycarpets #handmaderugs #handtuftedrugs #carpetsforsaleindubai #carpetsforhotels #contractcarpets

[fashionbrands30]

Discovering the Hype Around Gallery Dept: The Ultimate Style Destination

Introduction to Gallery Dept

Gallery Dept is not just another fashion label. It’s a movement, a fusion of art, fashion, and street culture that has redefined modern-day urban apparel. From the moment you visit gallerydept.sale, it’s clear that this brand is about more than clothing—it’s about self-expression. But what makes this brand so special? Let’s dive deeper into the world of Gallery Dept.

90’S RECYCLE GALLERY DEPT HOODIE

What is Gallery Dept?

Gallery Dept was founded by artist and designer Josué Thomas in Los Angeles, California. What started as a small art project quickly turned into a full-fledged brand known for its deconstructed aesthetic, hand-painted designs, and one-of-a-kind pieces. The core idea behind Gallery Dept is to blur the lines between art and fashion, offering clothing that feels more like wearable art than mass-produced garments.

But unlike many brands, Gallery Dept doesn’t follow traditional fashion norms. Its pieces are often upcycled, redesigned, and given new life through various artistic techniques.

ATK DISTRESSED LOGO GALLERY DEPT HOODIE

The Gallery Dept Philosophy

The philosophy behind Gallery Dept is one of creativity, sustainability, and individuality. Rather than following the trends, the brand focuses on producing timeless pieces that can be worn for years. Why follow the crowd when you can make your own path? This mentality resonates deeply with those who want their clothing to reflect their personal style.

Gallery Dept also emphasizes the importance of repurposing materials, creating clothing that is not only stylish but also eco-conscious. In a world where fast fashion dominates, Gallery Dept stands out as a breath of fresh air.

ATK MERCH GALLERY DEPT HOODIE

Exploring the Product Range

At gallerydept.sale, you’ll find an array of clothing that ranges from t-shirts to jeans, jackets, and accessories. What sets Gallery Dept’s products apart is the attention to detail and the artistic craftsmanship involved in each piece.

ATK REVERSIBLE LOGO BLACK GALLERY DEPT HOODIE

T-Shirts and Hoodies

Gallery Dept’s t-shirts and hoodies are among its most popular items. These pieces often feature distressed details, bold graphics, and hand-painted elements that make each item feel like a unique work of art. Whether you’re lounging at home or out on the streets, these pieces ensure you stand out from the crowd.

ATK STACKED LOGO GALLERY DEPT HOODIE

Denim and Pants

The brand's denim collection is another highlight. Known for its signature straight-leg fit, Gallery Dept jeans are often customized with paint splatters and patches, creating a look that’s both rugged and refined. If you’re a fan of unique denim, this brand is a must-try.

BLACK GALLERY DEPT FLAME HOODIE

Signature Pieces

Gallery Dept is known for certain iconic pieces that have gained a cult following. Among them are the “Reverse Logo” t-shirts and the upcycled jeans with their distinct hand-painted designs. These pieces embody the brand’s ethos of blending art and fashion seamlessly. By wearing a signature piece from Gallery Dept, you are not just putting on clothes; you are making a statement.

BLACK GYM CUT OFF HOODIE

The Artistic Influence in Gallery Dept's Designs

Art is at the heart of everything Gallery Dept creates. Founder Josué Thomas brings his artistic vision to life through his fashion designs, and this is evident in the hand-painted elements and deconstructed style that defines the brand. Think of Gallery Dept clothing as walking into an art gallery, where every piece tells a story.

The clothing is often inspired by modern art, music, and urban culture, making it an ideal choice for those who appreciate creativity in all forms.

BOXING MERCH GALLERY DEPT HOODIE

Why Choose Gallery Dept?

There are plenty of reasons to choose Gallery Dept over other fashion brands, but it all boils down to its unique blend of creativity, sustainability, and exclusivity. The brand’s limited runs and hand-crafted pieces ensure that you won’t see everyone else wearing the same thing.

Plus, the emphasis on sustainability is more important now than ever before. By choosing Gallery Dept, you’re not only getting a fashionable item, but you’re also supporting a brand that values eco-friendly practices.

BOXING MERCH HOODIE

The Importance of Sustainability

In today’s fast-paced fashion world, sustainability is often overlooked in favor of cheap, mass-produced items. However, Gallery Dept is part of a growing movement that prioritizes sustainability by repurposing materials and reducing waste. By producing smaller, hand-crafted collections, Gallery Dept minimizes its carbon footprint and offers consumers an eco-conscious alternative to fast fashion.

BOXING MERCH ZIP GALLERY DEPT HOODIE

How to Style Gallery Dept Clothing

Wondering how to rock your Gallery Dept pieces? The beauty of this brand is that its clothing is incredibly versatile. You can easily pair a Gallery Dept t-shirt with your favorite jeans for a casual day out or throw on a jacket to elevate the look.

For those who love layering, the brand’s jackets and hoodies work well over simple basics, adding an artistic flair to any outfit. The key to styling Gallery Dept is to let the pieces speak for themselves—keep the rest of your look simple to allow the artistic elements to shine.

DEPT LOGO GREY HOODIE

Gallery Dept’s Impact on Street Fashion

Gallery Dept has had a significant influence on the streetwear scene, with many celebrities and fashion icons sporting the brand's pieces. The rise of street fashion in mainstream culture can be partly attributed to brands like Gallery Dept, which have made urban, artistic styles more accessible to the public.

The brand’s focus on individuality and creativity has inspired a new generation of fashion enthusiasts to embrace their personal style rather than conform to traditional trends.

GALLERY DEPT BOXING MERCH ZIP HOODIE

Shopping at Gallerydept.sale: What to Expect

The website gallerydept.sale offers a seamless shopping experience for anyone looking to explore the brand’s offerings. With easy navigation, a wide selection of products, and detailed descriptions of each item, you’ll find everything you need to make an informed purchase.

Shipping and Returns Policy

One of the concerns when shopping online is the shipping and return policies. At gallerydept.sale, they offer international shipping, and their return policy is straightforward—if you’re not satisfied with your purchase, you can return it within a specified period for a refund or exchange.

Customer Reviews and Feedback

Many customers rave about the quality and uniqueness of Gallery Dept products. The hand-crafted nature of the clothing is often mentioned as a highlight, with customers appreciating the artistic touch and attention to detail. While some may find the price point higher than average, most agree that the quality justifies the cost.

Conclusion: The Future of Gallery Dept

In a fashion world filled with cookie-cutter designs, Gallery Dept stands out as a beacon of creativity, individuality, and sustainability. Whether you’re new to the brand or a longtime fan, the offerings at gallerydept.sale provide a wide range of options that cater to different tastes and styles. As Gallery Dept continues to grow and evolve, it’s clear that this is a brand with staying power.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. What makes Gallery Dept different from other fashion brands?

Gallery Dept stands out due to its emphasis on artistic expression, sustainability, and unique hand-crafted designs that make each piece feel one-of-a-kind.

2. Is Gallery Dept worth the price?

While the price point may be higher than fast fashion brands, the quality, creativity, and sustainability of the products make Gallery Dept a worthwhile investment for those looking for something special.

3. How do I care for my Gallery Dept clothing?

Given the artistic nature of the clothing, it’s recommended to follow the care instructions carefully, often including gentle washing and avoiding harsh chemicals to preserve the hand-painted elements.

4. Does Gallery Dept offer international shipping?

Yes, gallerydept.sale offers international shipping to many countries, allowing fashion lovers worldwide to