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ghoul-foolery · 3 months ago

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Dirty Windows | 23

Hancock x Nora - A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

[ 1 ] <- [ 18 ] [ 19 ] [ 20 ] [ 21 ] [ 22 ] - [ 24 ]

TW: Mentions of sex trafficking

If there was a single thing Hancock had learned while under the oppressive weight of his predecessor’s thumb, it was the fact that anything and everything could be bought. Sex, drugs, muscle; everything was for sale so long as you knew the right people and had the right amount of caps. Rumors and secrets could even be considered a hot commodity if the stakes were just right. And there were a scant handful of people roaming the Commonwealth gathering and selling information. It was just a matter of tracking them down.

Thankfully Hancock knew enough shady assholes that the search wasn’t overly long, or even particularly difficult. After supplying the right person with the right kind of chems, and caps he was approached to arrange a meeting a couple of days later. The meeting location was some abandoned diner out near the bay — and everything else fell into place. There were days where he wanted to abandon the whole Mayor gig; call it a day, pass on the title, and melt into drug-addled obscurity. And sometimes being the Mayor of Goodneighbor came with enough perks that he was glad he stuck around. After a couple days of waiting around, and another half of a day to travel to the little abandoned diner (not because of distance, but because fuck the Bay Area, and all it’s hiding places, in particular), and then after doing a sweep of the place he waited some more.

The place was another dilapidated chunk of building in a veritable sea of bigger derelict buildings. The windows had been boarded up, and the signage was faded, but portions of the inside were almost suspiciously clean. The bar top was mostly pristine. Booths tucked up against the boarded windows were notably devoid of dust but the tables were littered with old candles and wax. It was easy to assume that the little diner was someone’s go-to location for meetings.

Hancock burned time with cigarettes and melting old wax with his lighter. As the sun started to fade, and stopped filtering in through sparse roofing, Hancock lit the remains of the melted down candles. He’d brought an old flashlight just in case — along with a bag of caps — but he didn’t mind using the candles. It added a bit of drama to the setting.

The broker didn’t arrive until it was dark. He entered the diner in a swirl of clothing — a trench coat so long it swept against the floor. There was a dark fedora pushed down low over his eyes. The room was lit by candles and slices of moonlight and he was wearing fucking sunglasses. As a fellow costumed freak, Hancock couldn’t help but think the guy was some kind of vigilante wannabe. Very Silver Shroud if the Shroud sucked. Hancock wondered if he could pay the guy to visit Kent. Just for fun. Just to give the old ghoul something to talk about.

“Before we begin, you will disarm. Put any weapons you have on the bar. Then sit back down. I have an armed guard waiting outside.”

Hancock slid from the booth.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Caps and a flashlight, brother. You’re more than welcome to check.”

When he was met with silence, he crossed the room to the bar. His sawed-off was pulled from his thigh holster and placed on the counter. It was followed by his bowie knife. On the way back to the booth, he counted his steps. Just in case. It was roughly ten paces between him and his weapons. If each step he took was roughly two and a half-ish feet…

Hancock slipped back into his seat just as Not-Silver-Shroud pulled a collection of taper candles from his trench coat pocket. He lit them without a word, using the already lit candle, and then he mashed the stems into the softened wax to secure them to the table. Once the guy settled into the seat across from him, he leaned back.

“How can I be of service this evening?” The guy was pitching his voice into a lower register, it put just enough strain on his voice that it was easy to pick up.

Hancock fished his flask from his pocket and took a swig, then he went hunting for his cigarettes. He let the silence hang between them as he lit up, leaning forward to use one of the fresh candles. A puff of the cigarette bought him time to collect his thoughts and think things through. There was a right way and a wrong way to go about this. He couldn’t just go straight to the “tell me where Cecil is so I can kill him” of the thing.

“I’m in the market for a companion.”

“A companion,” the man echoed thoughtfully.

If the fucker had done his homework, he would have known that despite the fact that the Mayor of Goodneighbor was bit of a delinquent, a kingpin, an alcoholic and an addict, he still had morals. Consent was big in Hancock’s book. It was fucking huge. Sex work was real work until it involved buying someone against their will, and that’s where it turned into a killing offense. Not-Silver-Shroud didn’t seem to know that though. Hancock was a ghoul, a gross creature who most certainly had to buy their sex partners, right? The Brotherhood of Steel, and people like Hancock’s brother, made people think that ghouls were monstrous, subhuman creatures. Hancock would lean into the misinformation if it suited him.

“I heard there was one of those vaulties running around somewhere. I’ll be honest, I’d love to get my hands on one of them,” Hancock drawled, forcing out a wistful sigh.

The smile that creased the man’s features was borderline sinister. It was a dark look, a knowing look. Hancock didn’t want to know what the smile meant for fear that he might kill the bastard before he got what he needed.

“It just so happens,” the man said, all smug. “Some pretty smoothskin did just crawl out of a local vault recently. If you’re interested in someone like her in particular, it would be best to make a move on her now, before word gets out any more than it has. She might fall into the hands of someone not willing to sell.”

Oh, wow.

He felt like committing murder. The slow, calculated, kind.

Hancock settled back into his seat, draping one of his arms over the back. He flicked some ash to the table, then placed the cigarette back in his mouth as he made a show of thinking things through. In reality he was doing his best to keep his composure. Another puff and he was pinching off the end of the cigarette so he could save the rest for later. He placed it back into the pack, then shoved it back into his pocket.

“You’d be the man t’ask if the word has gotten out or not.”

That smile again, slow and daunting, “And information like that will cost you.”

So they started the game.

It took caps to divulge just how many people Not-Shroud had told about the vault girl; four, including Hancock. That was three too many. Clearly enough for some asshole to send some goons after his girl. The caps were pulled from his travel bag, bunched in pre-counted wraps of burlap. Black-gloved fingers swiped the offered caps on the waxy table.

“Before I cough up any more money, what’s this vaultie look like?” When the broker looked uncertain, Hancock shrugged. “Just wanna make sure she’s my type.”

Just wanted to make sure that there wasn’t some other poor, fuckin’ oblivious vault dweller wandering the Commonwealth without a gun or a clue.

“Red hair, green eyes,” was all the man said. Apparently that sort of information was free, enough to catch a man’s attention, enough to get the hook in place, enough to get them to pay for more. “Apparently has all her teeth - all straight, and white. Pre-war figure, like the pin-ups.” Boy, did she. All pretty and soft. Though, he supposed it was easy to compare her to a pin-up when so many living in post-war America were skin and bone. “Real cute, or so I was told.”

The rage that Hancock felt was staggering, it made his hands shake and his pulse leap in his throat. He swallowed, trying to keep his cool when all he wanted to do was get his knife and drive the blade into the fucker’s head. He was spreading word about Nora – his Nora. There was no doubt, no question about it. Even if it wasn’t Nora, some poor person had the wrong kinda eyes on them and that wasn’t okay. He’d stop it.

“Fuck,” he managed to rasp.

No response, just a gloved fingertip gently tapping against the table’s surface. Hancock dug into his bag again. It was another allotment of caps to get a general heading; North. Nora was North. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The game continued on like that for far too long. Not-Shroud would let bits of information slip, enough to peak curiosity, enough for a potential buyer to ask more questions and put down more caps. Hancock played. He gathered enough details that he was starting to suspect that someone in the Sanctuary Hills settlement was selling some information of their own.

“I heard there was a guy that I might be able to buy from if hunting the vaultie doesn’t go down as planned. Don’t suppose you know a guy named Cecil, do you? Heard he had some decent merchandise.”

The man’s index finger tapped the table, “Well, perhaps…”

More caps, more prodding for information.

“Cecil runs one of the better operations here in the Commonwealth by way of premium stock.” Stock. Humans. People. “You’ll have to go through his man to schedule a meeting unless you’d like a hand with that.”

“Just need t’know who I’m looking for and where.”

Before the man even had to start tapping his finger, Hancock tossed more caps onto the table. Cecil had a guy in Bunker Hill who went by Gerard. Fucking-A, he was going to shut this shit down. He was going to take down this guy before he could get to Nora, and he was going to save everyone he could along the way.

“If you want, I can set up the meeting,” Not-Silver-Shroud said again.

“Nah, brother,” Hancock said. “I think you’ve cleaned me out of caps for the night. Might as well give you the bag to pack everything out of here.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, and made a show of sighing before he reached out to shake the guy’s hand. Thousands of caps had been passed around in this little goddamn meeting. What a racket. “Thanks for the information.”

The Broker gathered his money into a travel bag he had brought. The guy blew out his candles, but didn’t bother to gather them. He left them on the table. A go-to meeting spot indeed.

“Wait five minutes and then you are free to leave,” the broker instructed, then left the diner with a swirl of his dumb oversized coat. Hancock did not wait five minutes. Leaving his gun on the bar, he waited just a beat – long enough to relight his cigarette and fish his flashlight from his bag. When he pushed the door open he wasn’t at all surprised to see the broker, along with his guard. He was a big sonnova bitch, too. Armed to the teeth, gun already in his hand. “I told you to wait–”

“Hey, man,” Hancock turned on the flashlight, pointing it straight at the Broker. “I just wanted to say it was a real pleasure doing business with ya.” His cigarette waved between his lips as he spoke, his free hand reaching up to flick the front corner of his hat.

It wasn’t a second later, not even a full heartbeat, when there was a crack of noise and the Broker’s head exploded all over the side of the old diner. The Broker’s guard raised his weapon, leveling the barrel at Hancock. The flashlight was aimed at the guard. On an exhale, as smoke seeped between him and his attacker, there was another explosion of gunfire that pierced the night. The poor nameless guard dropped to the ground in a heap.

Hancock meandered over to the Broker’s body. Rolling him over with a push of his foot, he stooped down to grab the bag of caps. “I’ll just be takin’ these back.”

It was roughly 20 minutes later, as Hancock was navigating his way through the abandoned streets of downtown Boston, when he was joined by former Gunner, RJ MacCready. The man emerged from the shadows of a nearby building almost too casually, that mean ol’ rifle of his slung over his shoulder. His hat drawn down low over his eyes, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“So? How’d it go?” The kid was good. On the best of days, MacCready was a little shithead, but he was Hancock’s little shit head. MacCready had become someone that Hancock knew he could rely on, and that was the sort that Hancock needed.

“Ah, ya know, it went fuckin’ swell. Just swell.”

“Sure it did. That’s why you look like you’re gonna break someone’s neck.”

Nora was safe at the moment, still hanging around the Slog when he had checked on her a few hours ago. He had peaked in on her and gave her a fair warning not to make a surprise visit unless it was dire. She seemed awfully fond of the place, and had grown attached to some old ghoul named Arlen. He had watched the two interact, and he was a fatherly sort – and Nora needed that kind of support. For the first time in days, she was content if not happy, and he didn’t want to disrupt that by telling her that someone had sold information about her. But he couldn't just let this shit rest, either.

“Hey, brother,” he said to MacCready, as they walked. “What are your per diem rates?”

Tag List: @takottai / @a-little-pebbl / @yamatra

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prismatic-skies · 24 days ago

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spaceacesoaps · 7 months ago

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New wax melt just dropped!

#shop #sale #wax #wax melt #almond #almond macaron #smells amazing #let me tell you

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wooahaes · 1 year ago

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a love that burns brightly

pairing: non-idol!s.coups x gn!reader

genre: fluff. domestic fic. established relationship.

word count: 1.0k~

warnings: reader has a side business selling candles. mentions of hot wax (being melted).

daisy's notes: me as i restrain myself from writing husband!cheol again bc i feel like im too predictable-

If there was one thing you could say about your boyfriend, it was that he probably advertised your side business more than you did.

Candle-making had started as something you did kind-of for fun. Sure, you sold your candles from the very beginning, but it was more-so because you needed some way of recouping the money you sunk into it. And, sure, it was only a side business that took up… a lot more time than you liked admitting. But that was what your days off were for: dedicating as much time as you needed to make your candles and restock the online store. This time of year was always your busiest for a reason (Holiday scents! Sales! Clear your inventory so you can start fresh in the new year!), and that meant Seungcheol stayed over at your apartment a lot more… especially when he came in with a list.

He’d been reading it off to you as you moved about your kitchen (your center of operations, so to speak), “Jeonghan said he loved the cinnamon candle you gave him. Joshua liked the pine one, and I thought we could maybe throw in an extra? I’ll pay for it. And Jun…”

All of this was what he’d pulled together over the past week. You’d told Seungcheol that if he wanted to sell to his coworkers that it’d be fine (considering how often he bragged about your work), but yesterday was the deadline for any orders. Of course… You didn’t expect him to manage to get every single person he was close to to buy at least one. Even that Vernon guy, who apparently bought three—two for his parents and one for his own girlfriend(slash-his-own-apartment since they lived together).

You looked up from the double boiler you were using to melt wax. “Cheollie?”

He stopped mid sentence, right about to tell you what he’d convinced Jihoon to order, “Yes?”

“Why don’t you live here?” The two of you had been together for almost two years at this point—although you’d known him for longer.

He made his way over to you, setting the list down closer. “Don’t you remember?” He leaned against your fridge. “You said you didn’t want to live with anyone for a while.”

Your brows drew together. When did you…? And then it clicked. Back when you first met Seungcheol (through Joshua—he went to the same gym as you, and one music-based conversation was enough to make the two of you friends), he’d said something about his own roommate at the time. You’d admitted that that was the exact reason why you weren’t going to live with anyone for a while. You made enough to support yourself: why not enjoy the solitude?

(“Even if you’re dating someone?” Joshua had said, nudging you as he kept stealing glances at Seungcheol.

“I mean, maybe eventually, but the right person isn’t going to force themselves in unless it’s an emergency,” you had shrugged in response. “I don’t mind sharing my space if I need to, but… I like living alone right now.”)

“I mean… Yeah… But…” You avoided his gaze, stirring the mixture with your silicone spatula to try and help it melt more evenly. “I just thought we’d talk about it at some point.”

He crossed his arms. “Honey?”

“Hm?”

“Is this your way of asking me to move in?”

One glance at Seungcheol was enough to tell you he was thoroughly enjoying the idea of making you admit it. Another slow stir, and you nodded after a moment. “Maybe.”

“Is it?” He pushed a little further, and you swore you could hear his smile in his words alone. “Do you want me to?”

“Can it be your Christmas gift?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “If you want. My lease isn’t up for a few months, but I’d love to move in when it’s up.”

You hid a smile. “Can you get the jars from my office? You’ll have to center the wicks when it’s time, too.”

Seungcheol stepped forward, pressing a quick peck against your cheek. “Whatever you need me to do,” he turned. You listened as he walked out, yet still spoke loud enough for you to hear him, “Can I get one for free?”

“Aren’t you sick of them by now?”

You heard the sound of glass clinking together as Seungcheol heaved the box into his arms, making his way back in, “I’m not moving in for a few months,” he said. “And you usually have one burning here…”

Fair enough. “You can get one of the leftovers.”

“Deal.” He set the box at his feet as he began to pull the jars out, setting them out. “I know I’ve said it before, but… I’m proud of you.”

“Cheollie—”

“No, really,” he said. “I am. You work full time and you do this as a side business because you love it. If you ever wanted to quit and do this full time… I’d be happy to support you.”

“I like my job,” you shrugged. “I like this, too, but I’m happy with the balance I have now. Especially when I have this guy who comes around sometimes to help me…”

He smiled, setting another jar down. “Is he handsome?”

“I think he’s pretty sexy, yeah,” you giggled. “I think you know him, actually. His name is Yoon Jeonghan—”

Seungcheol almost elbowed you playfully, only stopping because of the hot wax in front of you. “You’re so mean to me,” he pouted. “Right after you were begging me to move in, too.”

“I wasn’t begging.”

Seungcheol chuckled again. “Sure you weren’t.” He let out a blissful sigh. “So… What scent is this batch going to be again?”

“I dunno. What scent did Yoon Jeonghan want again?”

Wax be damned. He turned, immediately pulling you in for a quick kiss, and you could feel him smile against your lips as you giggled. Honestly, you couldn’t wait until he moved in with you officially.

(... And maybe you’d text that to Jeonghan so he could get in on teasing Seungcheol, too.)

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @porridgesblog @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny

#wooahaes.dec23 #wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you #s coups x reader #s coups x you

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copperbadge · 1 year ago

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[ID: Five images; top left, a large blue canvas storage bin sits on my bed ready to be unpacked, while top right I show off all the elderly wire clothes hangers I'm disposing of. Center, a large lantern-like light fixture features an electric bulb, on top of which is a chunk of wax melting in a tray. Bottom left, my new surge protector with electric plugs and USB cords plugged in; bottom right, a very old power strip has been unplugged and is covered in dust and cat hair.]

Welcome to NaClYoHo Day 3, where we find out that Past Sam was an exceptionally thoughtful dude, while listening to How Did This Get Made's live "New York Ninja" episode that just aired.

I was dreading today's task, which was to do the summer-to-winter clothing changeover; when the weather turns cold in climates with actual seasonal change you pack away your lightweight clothes and get out the sweaters and such. But it turns out last year I was a fucking genius and not only did I pack all the winter clothes into one box so I don't even have to pull out the under-bed storage anymore, I even made a note in my running cleaning list to remind myself of the fact when it came time to do the changeover.

So all I had to do was pull the blue canvas bin out of the closet, unload it, and load in all the summer clothes. I didn't know if I'd have time to do anything else but it took like, 20 minutes, and that includes trying on all the clothes to make sure they fit. (I've dropped a few pounds since last winter.) So I also went through my closet, pulled out every shirt that either didn't fit or I don't like wearing, and purged a bunch of coat hangers. I'm trying to change over completely from wire hangers to plastic, the kind with the notches that you can hook things onto, although I'm thwarted at the moment by the fact that it's remarkably difficult to find them for sale.

What I DID get at Target is a snappy new "lantern" wax warmer, which is currently melting some scented wax in the hopes it will make my home smell nice. I also picked up a new surge protector that plugs in at the outlet, so now my heated pad and the extension cord for the movie projector are tidier, plus the charging cords for the bedside table are no longer plugged into a USB hub that itself is plugged into an ancient power strip that I've had since grad school. Farewell, gross firetrap!

I didn't get about 80% of what I went to Target for (they didn't have coat hangers, nishiki rice, or bread flour, and I forgot to look for snacky foods) but I got the things I really needed and I'm counting it as a "hardware store" trip on account of it. I didn't time the trip, but the non-shopping portion of the day's work took about an hour of a 90 minute podcast.

Disposable gloves used: Still only 1!

Trips to the hardware store: 2.

#naclyoho #national clean your home month #cleaning #dirt

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