#muse full gigs

[sunburnacoustic]

Muse full gigs

Some full shows that are available, for anyone who wants to partially relive the Muse live experience.

I figured no one's made lists in a while.

La Cigale, Paris By-Request gig 2018

rarities + I guarantee I'm gonna fuck up Space Dementia + water spitting + Matt and Dom playing Grammy hosts in the way they announced the winners of the by-request polls

Some cool and noteworthy gigs:

Live Lounge 2012

The Mayan 2015 (performance wise this gig was stunning)

Royal Albert Hall 2008 (Teenage Cancer Trust charity gig - Megalomania on the pipe organ!)

Reading Festival 2011 (10 years of Origin of Symmetry - played the album start to finish)

AOL Sessions 2006

Reading 2006 (Muse's first time headlining if I remember right. Plus, Matt's moves!)

Glastonbury 2004 (first Glasto headline and a must-watch! Of the iconic mad-scientist, white lab coat era. Muse had called it the best gig of their life so far, at the time) (*Ruled By Secrecy was played live but wasn't included in the concert footage DVD and isn't in this video upload either)

Montreaux Jazz 2002 (height of piano maniac-ery days. Would also recommend Pinkpop 2002 but they don't. have. the footage anymore :( Space Dementia at Pinkpop 2002 was phenomenal. 2004 is also good, but I never found 2002 again. Speaking of which,)

Pinkpop 2004 (most songs are in, a few performances missing unfortunately)

MCM Café 1999 (marvel at what a good live act this young band aged 21 already was—with about 4 years of gigging experience under their belts. Insane how good they are.)

Wembley 2007 (H.A.A.R.P. The first band to sell out the newly rebuilt Wembley Stadium. 90,000 people. You need to understand, seeing Chris lift up and point his bass at the crowd at the end of the slightly modified Jimmy Jam riff before Time Is Running Out was a religious experience that changed me and we're lucky enough to live in an age where you and I can witness it over and over and over again and I'd suggest that you do)

Rock Am Ring 2018, uploaded to the Internet Archive by the Muse Historical Society!

Austin City Limits 2013 Philipshalle 1999 Philipshalle 2001 (all suggested in notes, check out the crystal clear gifs from @hotbellamy! :O )

A few additions I remembered after publishing: Eurockeennes 2000 (opened with a then-unreleased New Born. Matt playing a full gig in red sunglasses. Treat to watch. Link's stretched up to fit modern screens but if you want a bit of clarity and don't mind the late 90s ratio stretch, here's a different link) 2002 (quality's a bit shit but that is literally what telly used to look like)

Shepherd's Bush Empire 2006 (Early gigs are always interesting because over time Muse develop different ways of playing songs that are fresh off new albums. The way they work through Take A Bow live is a bit different here, Dom's the one controlling the opening verse synths! During the Abso tour, Matt would play that bit on the piano as an intro to Space Dementia and if I'm remembering right, he does now on the pianos (correct me—this was on the ST tour as well). Also, Starlight in Bm at this gig)

Rock Werchter 2023 (Muse play Rock Werchter in Belgium almost every year, except for the pandemic and 2012 I think, but this year's was a bit special. Best performance of Madness I've seen in a while, I love what he does in the outro! MOTP returns to the set. Muse had tech troubles at the end that caused them to restart Knights of Cydonia twice, to no avail. They finally cut it back for a guitar-bass-drum-vocals-only performance of Showbiz, and Matt's voice sounds exceptional on it— the best in recent years)

Bizarre Fest 2000 (BLESS SOMEONE HAS RESTORED THIS FROM VHS TAPE IN HD, this is so much better than back in the day!! If the falsetto at 1:13 doesn't do it for you, you're into the wrong band, nothing else will help. What an electric performance this was!)

Gigs from WOTP 2022/23 festivals tour last summer:

Nova Rock Rock In Rio Ejekt Fest Isle of Wight Hurricane Festival 2023 (a festival at which Matt once complained that Muse's set was cut short by... hurricanes. But the audio mixing at this gig was really good!)

These are in no particular order, and obviously not complete, I just realised no one had put together a gig archive in a while so I thought I'd give it a stab!

Will edit and add others whenever, there are obviously glaring omissions still!

[glorious-blackout]

for the opinions ask: indoor concerts are more enjoyable than festivals because they allow for a more intimate emotional experience of the music

hope you’re having a lovely day! 😘💗

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

I've never been to a festival but I have been to quite a few outdoor/stadium gigs and I have to agree, the vibes of an indoor concert are just so much nicer and the sound quality tends to be a lot better (I'm still sad that I could barely hear a thing when Arctic Monkeys played at Bellahouston 😅). I've definitely developed a deep fondness for smaller, more intimate gigs as I've gotten older. Some of my favourite recent concerts have been in venues with a capacity of less than a thousand people (St Luke's in Glasgow my beloved...)

Also you're far less likely to get pished on by heavy rain when you're in an indoor venue 😂

Thank you! 💖

[writingwithfolklore]

How to Hold Yourself Accountable as a Professional Writer

              Okay maybe you’re not self-employed or professional yet and writing definitely isn’t bringing in the big bucks, but you’d like it to some day, and you’re working right now on making that a reality. This post is for you, because the best time to practice getting into a healthy writing habit and holding yourself accountable to writing for that future where it’s your full time gig is now—before it’s essential to do so.

1. It will never be easy

It’s easy to think that maintaining a schedule or habit for writing would be easy if only it was your full-time gig and all you needed to do. While it might be easier than trying to cram in writing between classes or jobs, it will never be easy. You’re always going to have multiple things going on, there’s always going to be something you could be or need to be doing other than writing. Developing good habits right now, when it is really hard, is going to set you up far better than just waiting for it to get easy before you fully commit to it.

2. Set a schedule that actually works for you

I did a whole post on making a writing schedule you can actually manage and maintain here:

But the TL;DR is that in order to keep to a schedule, you have to make sure it’s attainable. Fit when you write around your other life schedule. For example, if you’re really not a morning person, planning on waking up at 5am every morning to write for a couple hours is probably not something you’ll be able to maintain. But setting aside an hour before bed may be more manageable for you.

3. Form a habit

To train your brain to make your writing schedule a habit you’ll actually stick to, you should make it into a routine. Similar to how you have a bedtime routine that sets you up to feel sleepy at night, a routine that sets you up for writing will make it harder to turn away from your manuscript, and help inspire a productive writing block.

              You can create a writing playlist with songs that inspire your project you listen to whenever you begin writing, make a tea or other drink to sip on while you write, grab a snack, share your schedule with a writing buddy and write together, put together a document of inspiring quotes, photos, or other muses you can read, or really anything that gets you into the writing mood. By following this routine every time you set up to write, you’ll train your brain to get into a mindset that will make it easier to stick to your writing block.

4. Reward yourself

Brains love doing things for a reward. Maybe after a productive writing block you can spend some time doing something else you love, like watching an episode of your favourite show, lighting a candle, taking a bath, or having a glass of wine, I don’t know, anything that would give your brain the happy juice in response to your good work.

5. Set deadlines and goals

Writing consistently is basically the majority of the battle. I don’t typically worry about word count, but I do know that it can be helpful for others to set wordcount goals and deadlines to ensure productivity. If that sounds like you, make sure your goals are actionable while also being attainable. “Finish novel” isn’t a great goal, but “write 2000 words per week for three months” could be helpful if you know that 2000 words is attainable for you.

              Same as before, you can also set rewards for when you reach your goals. I have a big tattoo upcoming if I complete my goal for the year.

              The last tip I have for this point is to try to find an accountabili-buddy to hold you to your goals and deadlines if you think that would be helpful for you. As a professional writer, you may be held accountable by an editor or agent, so practicing through asking a buddy to help you set deadlines and deliverables will help prepare you for writing towards a date.

The TL;DR is find out what works for you and practice doing it consistently! Anything else I missed?

[ladylannisterxo]

Flannel and Lace

Pairings; Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Words; 1.9k

Warnings; S M U T (18+ only), unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), spanking, dirty talk, basically just porn without plot

Summary; Eddie comes home to find you wearing one of his flannel shirts, wearing only his flannel shirt.

A/N; Listen. I am obsessed with the photos going around of Joseph Quinn's costume tests but am also distraught that they put this man in a flannel and then didn't even use it! Now, I'm just absolutely feral over it - this is the end result! I am a sucker for a good flannel, especially on a very attractive man. This is just shameless smut, enjoy!

{ masterlist }

You were early; Eddie could hear you shuffling around in his room as soon as he waltzed in the front door. He had hoped he could have some time to get settled before you arrived but then again, it’s not as if he really minded, he had given you a key weeks ago for this very reason. Queen was playing, muffled behind the closed bedroom door and he smirks, knowing you’re in his room swaying your hips to the beat and pretending to be a rockstar when you think no one is looking.

He slips down the hallway quietly, sliding off his leather jacket and denim vest as he goes, hoping to catch you in the act of rocking out. He loved how you felt the music throughout your whole body, how free you always looked. But more importantly, he loved how absolutely adorable you got when you realize you’ve been caught; how your hands cover your face and you shy away from him in pure embarrassment. Because he’s the rockstar, not you. Or, at least, that’s what you always say when he catches you. Eddie desperately wants to bring you to a gig one of these days, see how you lose your inhibitions when he begins to play.

But, of course, this is not what he sees when he pushes open the door. His closet door is hanging wide open and you’re standing in the middle of the room with one of his red flannels draped over your body. And from his vantage point, this single red flannel is the only thing you’re wearing. He groans at the sight, how can he not, and you look over your shoulder with a soft smirk and a teasing glint in your eye.

“You never wear this,” you muse, turning around to fully face him.

Eddie grips the doorknob tighter for stability, licks his lips because fuck, he was somewhat right. That blessed red flannel falls across your frame like a waterfall, a little long in the sleeves but stopping just at the tops of your thighs. It’s also unbuttoned, completely, exposing your supple skin to his searching eyes. No bra, the garment just barely conceals you and to him, you might as well not even be wearing panties because the thin lace leaves nothing to the imagination. He can feel himself growing hard just looking at you and he shifts in place, a poor attempt in controlling his lust.

“It’s, uh, it’s too hot to wear,” he chokes out, brain scrambling to formulate coherent sentences.

That’s when you finally look at him, eyes sparkling in the midday sun and Eddie wants to melt into a puddle on the floor because if you looked at him just like this every single moment of every single day, he’s sure he’d die a happy man.

“But that leather jacket you don every day is breezy as can be,” you chuckle, eyebrow arching. “I don’t know, Eds, this feels nice to me. It’s real soft.”

“It looks good on you too,” he responds automatically.

“Yeah?” You sway from side to side, the flannel moving with you like a lover keeping you close.

“Sweetheart, all my clothes look good on you.” It’s honest and Eddie didn’t realize how true that statement actually was until you kept trying on his clothes. He’s wrapped you up in his leather jacket more times than he can count and don’t get him started on the things he wants to do to you when you wear his Hellfire Club shirt.

You smile, biting your lip softly. Then you’re crawling onto his bed, granting him a full view of your ass before placing yourself on your knees, hands resting against your thighs. Your hair is a disheveled mess and the flannel has fallen open a bit more, exposing a teasing amount of your tits to him. Eddie thinks you belong on the cover of a magazine or a poster he could tack onto his wall and jack off to when you’re not with him.

“Let me guess,” you say, pulling the garment off your shoulders, “you still think it would look better on the floor.”

Eddie finally kicks his ass into high gear, crossing the room to stand directly in front of you. His fingers tug at the flannel to bring it back up over your shoulders and then his lips are on yours, soft and gentle but insistent. His hands trail down to cup your breasts and you push up into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you gasp when he tweaks your nipples between his fingers.

“I like when you wear my clothes, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your skin, “makes me feel closer to you.”

“Sweet talker.”

“I’m serious,” he chuckles, “but you sitting here posed on my bed makes you look like something out of a magazine.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, trailing your tongue along his jaw. “Like one of those dirty mags I found underneath your bed?”

“Well,” he begins, pulling back to meet your eyes, “you would make a great centerfold.”

Then he’s cupping your pussy in his hand and your breath stutters in your chest. He smirks before kissing you again, fingers working diligently against your clothed heat.

“Eddie, please, please,” you whine, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

His hands make their way to the backs of your thighs and he pulls, your legs coming out from under you as you drop unceremoniously onto your ass. He pulls on you again and you’re brought to the edge of the bed where he’s already waiting, down on his knees. Your heart flutters with anticipation.

Eddie’s breath is hot against your still clothed pussy and you shift your hips closer, silently begging for what you want most from him. His dark eyes flick up to meet yours as he teases a single finger across the lace. You let yourself drop to lay flat on your back with a sigh, deciding to let him do whatever the hell he wants to you.

“So wet,” he murmurs when he pushes your panties out of the way, “is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “all for you, baby, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Is that right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer; he flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks a firm stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moan loudly, hands immediately flying to tangle in his hair. His tongue circles your clit before latching on to suck fervently against the bundle of nerves. You arch your back, fingers tightening, keeping him right fucking there. Two of his fingers slip inside of you without warning, setting a steady pace as he pulls every single sigh and moan he can from you.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

His mouth pulls off your clit with a resounding pop and then he’s moving up your body to capture your lips in a heated kiss, fingers still working inside you, bringing you closer and closer to your release. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes wide as he watches you come undone beneath him. Rolling your hips in a frenzied pace, you take his fingers deeper and deeper until your orgasm pitches through you like gasoline being poured over an already blazing fire. Eddie works you through it, he always does, and once your hips come to a stop and the spasms have subsided, he slips his fingers out of you and brings them to your awaiting mouth.

“That’s my good girl,” he muses when you wrap your lips around his fingers, “see how good you taste?”

You hum in agreement, swirling your tongue around his digits. He groans at the sensation before pulling his fingers from your mouth abruptly and bringing that same hand down to smack your ass sharply. You jolt, pushing your body further into him and he wraps his arms around you and rolls, bringing you up to straddle his hips.

“Think you can give me one more?” He asks, shifting his hips for you to feel his hard cock against your thigh.

You waste no time in helping rid him of his clothes. Your fingers start at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before latching your lips onto his collarbone and licking and sucking your way down to your prize. When you reach the denim of his jeans, you slide off the bed long enough to unfasten them and pull them and his boxers down in one fluid motion. You straddle his waist again, rolling your hips across his cock. His hands find your hips, squeezing and kneading the flesh tightly in his fingers and you bring the flannel back down off your shoulders. Turns out Eddie was right, it does get a bit too hot.

Grasping his cock in hand, you line him up at your entrance and sink down onto him slowly, enjoying the ache of him stretching you out. Eddie groans at the feeling of you already clenching around him, his hands bunching the fabric of his flannel around your waist to grip your hips tighter, to help you move against him.

Your hands fall flat on his chest for stability, his tattoos peaking out at you from in between your fingers. Fuck going slow and steady, you set a rapid pace, bouncing on his cock with what could only be described as pent up aggression, taking him fast and hard and deep.

“Fuck, yes,” you mewl, throwing your head back with an elongated moan.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, smacking your ass again. “Ride my cock until you cum.”

His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing firm and tight circles, taking you higher and higher. You can feel your orgasm building inside of you, coursing through your veins like a tidal wave. You bite your lip with a whimper, one hand smacking against the wall in front of you to find purchase. Eddie has leaned up to capture a nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the hardened peak, and the onslaught of these added sensations has your orgasm crashing over you.

Crying out Eddie’s name as pleasure overtakes you, he wraps one arm around you and flips you until you're flat on your back. He hikes your leg up on his hip and fucks you hard through your high, chasing his own release. Your nails rake down his chest, leaving wild and red scratches in their wake, as you roll your hips against him meeting him thrust for thrust for thrust.

“Eddie, please, cum inside me,” you whine, “I want to feel it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts and with two more hard thrusts, he’s exploding inside of you, warming you up from the inside.

Eddie pulls out of you gently and pulls your panties back in place, keeping all of him inside you. He kisses you then, all tongue and teeth, pulling you close, so close, you could meld into one single being. He interlocks his fingers with yours, lips pressing gentle kisses along your knuckles as you brush his hair away from his eyes.

“That was - shit, you really went for it,” he says after a moment, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

“I did say I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you remind him, “although I wasn’t expecting you to get this hot and bothered over me in your clothes.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you could be completely naked or covered from head to toe and I’ll always get hot and bothered over you,” he says, capturing your lips in another kiss. “But I’m pretty sure this flannel is yours now.”

“Good,” you whisper, pecking his lips again, “I wasn’t going to give it back anyway.”

[jaeyunverse]

the 24-hour dating challenge (teaser)

PAIRING(S) | park sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE(S) | fluff, crack, mutual pining, best friends to lovers, influencer au (?)

EST. WORD COUNT | around 5k

WARNING(S) | profanity, hoon is a loser and down bad, mc is painfully dense + all warnings to be added in the full fic!

SUMMARY | being a famous youtuber isn’t easy, especially when you have to constantly come up with new ideas to keep your audience entertained. and this time, your viewers want you to date park sunghoon, your best friend of nearly a decade, for the entirety of 24 hours.

TAGLIST | @blank-velvet @soobisms @justalildumpling @xharisrealm @skzenhalove @alicesolengg @yenqa @geombyu @tika-writes-lol @jlheon @haknom @useraerin @hooniessslvrss @flwrshee @rikisly @tobiosbbyghorl @wonkivrse @heeflrs @bambithia @iea-tsand @chaechae-23 @en-dazed @jayfrvr @h-hazwie @moonlighthoon @justanotherkpopstanlol @sseastar-main @seongclb @shoyotime @gerianne @iadorethemskz @sieuneo @hoon0logy @luvistqrzzz @sucrosxi @lzux1 @t4kalcvr @nes-caf @odxrilove @trippy-dejun @arizejkt19 @xuimhao @vizstars @enhacatalog send an ask/comment if u wish!

AUTHOR’S NOTE | I AM COMING BACK!!!!!! (kinda. maybe. idk i get ahead of myself a lot LOL) finals are finallyyyy over and i have some time to write this week so i’ve started this old wip of mine! it’s going to be pretty short and sweet so i’ll hopefully be able to follow through on this teaser but no promises haha :)) i hope u look forward to this fic! inspired by h.j evelyn (♡)

click here for the full fic!

“Your followers want me to do what?” 

Sunghoon was positive he’d misheard you. However, part of him hoped you’d confirm the life-altering information you’d casually uttered without even bothering to look away from the TV screen. 

“Hoon!” you exclaimed, your fingers aggressively moving about the gaming console. “Oh, my God, they’re coming after me! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK—” you screeched— “Nonononono I can’t take them by myself! You testicle-guzzling cocksucker, why did you die when I needed you the most?!” 

Sunghoon watched you struggle warily. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety and your eyes bulging out of their sockets. He wasn’t entirely sure you were breathing. Beads of sweat were clinging to your forehead and your face was scrunched up in a weird, constipated expression. 

There was a good chance you’d utter fouler insults if he disturbed you while playing, but he couldn’t stop himself from broaching the subject. “Are we just going to pretend you didn’t say the thing you just said?” 

“The thing about you being a testicle-guzzling cocksucker?” you gritted. “No.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “The thing about your followers wanting us to date for a video.” 

For a few moments, you didn’t deign to acknowledge him. Then, as if a switch inside you had flipped, you pulled the TV’s plug and turned to face him. “Would it be weird?” 

Wow. Okay, Sunghoon mused. I think it would be a fantastic idea and a dream come true, but I don’t trust myself around you. Even as a mere friend.  

However, instead of voicing his thoughts, the boy simply shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve been friends for several years now. I’m a regular on your YouTube channel and I think your fans are aware of the dynamics of our relationship. What do they mean when they say they want us to date? Physical intimacy aside, we already do everything couples do.” 

“I think they want us to be romantic,” you admitted. “Go on a date, hold hands, cross some lines.”

“Cross some lines?” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip curling in a smirk. “Is this you speaking or your subscribers?”

Groaning in exasperation, you shoved his shoulder. He fell back on the couch, laughing. “Shut up, dickface! You know I’ve been swamped this semester. My influencer gig has been seriously lacking. I need to step up—do what they want me to do. Besides, we only have to be girlfriend and boyfriend for 24 hours. It’s really not that big a deal. Are you in or not?”

Sunghoon took a few seconds to mull over your words. Sure, he would love to be your boyfriend for 24 hours. As long as his fantasies were brought to reality, he didn’t care if the whole relationship was fake and short-lived. 

For far too long, he’d pined after you. He thought he was doing an excellent job at hiding his feelings, but then you decided to make vlogs for fun. That’s when shit truly went downhill. 

Within a few years, you’d amassed a following of over 5 million on YouTube and 3 million on Instagram. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say you’d become somewhat of a local celebrity.  

Being one of your closest friends, Sunghoon was often featured in your videos. Initially, he’d baulked at the idea of being filmed, but you’d worked your magic on him. The boy soon found himself being comfortable around cameras. 

Even though Sunghoon never started his own YouTube channel, his popularity grew along with yours. His Instagram had garnered over two million followers, and courtesy of his good looks and attractive physique, he’d been offered a bunch of brand deals too.

You’d scowled at how far Sunghoon’s pretty privilege had gotten him. While you busted your ass coming up with unique ideas and editing your videos to perfection, all he needed to do was show up. 

What you didn’t know, though, was that part of the reason he’d become a heartthrob among the youth was you. 

You might have been dumb and blind, but your followers certainly were not. They’d realised how Sunghoon looked at you—his eyes always twinkled and a fond smile automatically adorned his lips whenever he caught sight of you. 

To add to that, your fans had pointed out habits he didn’t even know he possessed. For example: idly braiding your strands; bringing you snacks whenever he swung by your apartment; saying hey, sunshine and giving you a side hug by way of greeting; disguising his compliments as insults. 

The list was very long.

They’d noticed the elastic he kept around his wrist at all times too—it was one of the two you’d used to tie his hair into little ponytails because you were convinced you could transform him into Boo from Monsters, Inc.   

Sunghoon himself had forgotten the reason he wore the elastic around his wrist. All he knew was that it was yours and it felt right. But when he read the comments obsessing about it, he rushed to watch the video your fans were referring to. 

And damn, they were right. 

Sunghoon didn’t know if you’d seen the comments your fans regularly left on your various social media pages. You’d never mentioned anything about the community calling you “couple goals,” and he was too much of a coward to inquire if you were aware. 

It was infuriating to know how transparent he was. Sunghoon wished he’d never gotten used to the camera and let slip his true self. 

Perhaps this was the cost of gaining the boyfriend material label—his unrequited feelings exposed for the entire world to see. 

Sunghoon would never admit it, but he’d spent the better part of a day reporting everyone who’d shipped him with you. The entire incident had truly made him go off the rails. 

However, today’s revelation was unexpected. It was an opportunity. A chance to experience something he’d desired for many years. Suddenly, he found himself thanking those busybodies online instead of cussing them out for being ridiculously invested in his love life.

Sunghoon knew saying yes to your proposition would bite him in the ass later on. He knew he’d crave more of you once he got a taste of being your boyfriend, and giving this fake relationship a shot would definitely make it harder for him to get over you in the future. He knew he was a massive idiot for willingly indulging in impending heartbreak, but he could always cross that bridge when he came to it.  

“Okay,” he said, meeting your gaze. “I’m in.”  

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had the worst Monday that could have ever existed. Onto Tuesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"I trust this should be amenable to your work," Mr. Laufeyson holds open the door along the east wall of his study. One you've never opened before though you're familiar with the space within. The library also opens into the hallway and keeps you busier than many of the other rooms. "When you should require it. I expect much of your work will keep you afoot."

You peer past him, his tall figure like a second shadow. You clutch your kit tight and nod. You didn't exactly bring the tools for this new role.

"I should have a blank ledger somewhere, oh and a pen of course," he advises, "given our new... arrangement, I would require a contact point."

You nod and tear your attention from the full shelves and luxurious velvet chaise. You won't get to enjoy those but they give the space a much more welcome feel than the rest of the house. You face Mr. Laufeyson as he keeps the door propped open with his foot. He slides out his phone as if it's a task. 

"Never to worry, I wouldn't bother you much so long as you do your work adequately," he assures, "but in case of... emergency."

"Oh, erm," you sputter and reach into your hoodie pocket, revealing the tiny flip phone.

"Hm, vintage," he muses, "as you would."

He holds his phone, gesturing to it with his other hand. You teethe your lip before you recall the digits of your number. Your plan doesn't include a lot of talk minutes but he doesn't promise much of that. He keys them into his screen.

"You'll have mine," he taps his thumb and your phone chimes. "In case."

"Thanks, uh, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Mmmm," he hums again. "Suppose you would need some sort of proper device, a computer of sorts." He clucks and checks his watch, dropping his arm with a huff, "I've an important event shortly, I'll try to venture by the electronics shop before I return.”

You nod and fold your phone, slipping it away as you peek back into the library. He inhales deeply, "suppose you should begin. The list is on the writing desk.”

You accept the command easily. You’re even thankful for it. It gives you a proper reason to find distance. You go to the desk and look over the typed list. You don’t sit, hesitating as you wonder if it would seem lazy, maybe even presumptuous.

“Let me fetch that ledger,” he says before letting the door drift closed.

You run your finger over the top line. ‘Create a schedule’. Hmmm. You look over the bullets that fill the paper. You can only assume he refers to all of that. It’s straightforward, you can handle a schedule. It’s everything that comes after that gives you doubt.

“And you’ll have to review what my wife, ex that is, left in shambles,” Mr. Laufeyson interrupts as he pushes through again. “Her little folder is here. She was always fond of order, even though she left me in much less. This is what’s left of her handiwork,” he approaches coolly and sets down a plain fawn coloured ledger, a fountain pen, and a white folder with golden flowers on it.

“Thanks,” you eke out as his hands linger on the edges.

You sense his gaze, discerning and weighty. He leans forward slightly and you nearly take a step across as he points to the list. You follow the line of his arm and his extended finger.

“Another point to add, ‘acquire work attire’,” he instructs and turns his hand over, flippant flicking his finger in a gesture to your plain hoodie and worn gray denim. “I trust my pay should afford that necessity easily, however should you require a write-off, I suppose it could be argued as a professional expense.”

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you frown in embarrassment, “I didn’t…” You look down at yourself, wanting to hide behind your arms. 

“You wouldn’t think of it, just a maid,” he dismisses, “very well, I think you have more than enough to begin. I should be some hours.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you agree. He is correct, there is more than enough to keep you busy.

“I will review the schedule upon my return,” he affirms. “Should you require refreshment, you recall where to go.”

You nod and cautiously reach for the ledger, sliding it closer as he backs up. You slowly sit, hovering before you let yourself rest. He lingers by the door as you roll the pen aside and put the ledger and folder parallel. You open the former and line up the list inside the cover, resuming your perusal of the bullet points.

The door closes and you keep your attention to the paper. You don’t dare a glance up until you hear his muffled footfalls cross his study. You feel as if he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. You think you might be too.

🧹

A clunk sharply pierces the tenuous peace of the empty house. You hadn’t heard the door or his approach, not even right next door, not until the hefty thunk. You listen but keep your nose down. 

You’re just about done with the schedule. Two cleans throughout the week to spread the duties evenly. The main floor on Mondays, and the upper on Thursday. You’ll be able to fit in an unexpected tidying between your other to-dos.

You flutter through the pretty white and gold folder. The embossed suede speaks of a sophisticated owner. You wonder why she would ever abandon it, though you assume, a separation may not inspire sentiment.

You turn over another note. This one about the gazebo. A blurb on a repair. You’ll have too go out and check to see if it was actually done, there’s no confirmation of the job. You stop to admire her loopy writing, as elegant as the folder.

The door opens without pretense. You sit up and wiggle the pen between your index and thumb. Mr. Laufeyson as a flat white box in his hand, along with a smaller one on top. He does not near you, instead place his lot on the square table by the window.

“Here,” he orders shortly.

You rise and leave the pen in the centre of the ledger. You cross to him as he moves the smaller box aside and unfolds the two smaller flaps from the large one. You can’t help but watch curiously.

“This should suffice,” he shimmies out the cardboard insert, revealing a sleek silver laptop, “hmm?”

He shifts it towards you and lets you look it over. You put your hands behind you to keep from touching. You lean in just a little.

“It looks nice, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.”

“For your work, of course. These days, it is a requirement. And this,” he takes the smaller box and offers it up, “a proper work phone. It is more professional. Any calls on my behalf, you will make on this. That relic you have won’t do much.”

“Uh, yes, Mr. Laufeyson, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful? Practical. Company property, of course,” he insists, “another point to add. Set these up. They should be functioning by the end of the day. You’ll need them to keep up with the rest of your tasks.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I will put it on the list.”

“Mm,” he circles around you, striding to the writing desk before you can react. You follow at a few paces, not wanting to crowd him. He takes the pen and uncaps it. He adds the bullet himself. “There you are.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson,” you recite again.

He snaps the lid on the pen and his lips twitch, not quite curving, “I’ll review,” he snatches up the open ledger, your schedule open to see. You almost rush forward. You meant to rewrite it before you handed it over. It has scribbles all over it. You won’t argue.

“Go on,” he steps around the desk, waving to the side dismissively.

You return to the table and gather the laptop and phone, along with the stray box. You bring them back to the writing desk and stay standing as you free the laptop from the insert. You let your eyes edge along the top of your vision as Mr. Laufeyson sits on the chaise and browses the ledger.

You refocus and investigate the cord buried in the box as a collection of booklets fall out. You sort through them and find the one in English. You start on the front page, reading over the different buttons and features. The diagram is especially helpful. You’ve never had a computer before, not that it belongs to you.

You squint as you read the precautions. Your mind flits back and forth between your current task and everything beyond. You would go to the library sometimes and spend an hour on the PC, and in school you did all your work in the resource room. This is much fancier than any of the boxy computers you’d used before.

It says you should plug it in and charge to full before booting. You unravel the cord and search for an outlet against the wall. There’s one not far. You hook up the cord to the port on the side of the slender laptop then trail it to the wall. The little light on the side glows yellow.

Then you take the little box. A phone. The flip phone was second-hand but this is shiny and new. You’re like a kid at Christmas, not that you got much for the holiday, even when you were younger.

You slide out the small device. Your hand is unused to it. It’s not clunky like your phone. It feels easy to drop even if it’s bigger than the flip. You peel off the plastic film around the border and across the screen.

You take out the booklet and read it as closely as the first. Same thing; charge before use. You don’t want to mess up any of this. You plug it in above the computer and place it on the closed lid. You carefully sit in the chair, careful not to jostle the cords.

You peek up and find Mr. Laufeyson looking at you over the top of the ledger. His green eyes gleam and flick back down to the page. You hope he doesn’t see how clueless you are. This stuff that’s all so normal to everyone else is new to you. A job alone is a novelty still.

“You may ask it,” he says abruptly.

You wince and shrug. You don’t know what he means. His brows tweak in amusement.

“You’ve not asked about time off. I am unaware of your previous commitment, what days you had to yourself.”

You didn’t think of it but he does seem to think of everything. You twiddle your fingers on the desk. You would work as much as you need to. You still haven’t seen the final hospital bill.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I worked three shifts per week, but I was on probation,” you explain carefully, “I can work more than that.”

“How much is more?” He wonders, his thumb tapping the corner of the ledger.

You blink. You don’t know what’s appropriate. You don’t want to say too little and come off lazy, or say too much and seem ignorant. 

“Six?” You utter, “six days, Mr. Laufeyson?”

His thumb stills, “per week?”

You nod. His eyes narrow and his lips thin in consideration.

“Should do,” he accepts and his eyes fall back to the page.

You think you got the right answer. You look down at the bullet points. It seems like a lot written out but surely it can’t be. Besides, the more you think about it, the more exciting it is. This house is so beautiful and this list means you get to explore it.

You don’t sink too deep into the moment of optimism. Mr. Laufeyson stands, still intent on the ledger. He paces blindly around the library, a click of his tongue as he reviews your handwriting.

“There will be some nights,” he intones, “other occasions where I require you in the evening.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you accept as you flutter the pages of the laptop instruction booklet.

“Mm,” he hums flatly, “I do think the cook liked you, didn’t she? Suppose we might retain that service for the time being.”

You nod and make a note in the corner of the list; simply, Corissa. He shuts the ledger and grips it tight. He walks around the table then turns back, coming back to you. He lays down the book on the desk.

“I won’t know until the day in question. You understand, this would be on-call. I’ve a busy life and so will you,” he girds, leaning on the book as he bends over the desk. “You will be doing more than watching little birds flapping around the garden.”

You nearly recoil as he plucks the memory out so precisely. That was careless of you. You should’ve kept your head down and just got to work. It’s a warning you’ll remember.

“I won’t, Mr. Laufeyson, I understand,” you assure.

“Not to say that you can’t,” he stands and pushes the bottom of his jacket back, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, “but only when there are no other pressing matters.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He sighs and tilts his head back, “you must resist distractions. You are prone to it. I’ve noticed.”

You chew your lip and accept the remonstrance. You’ll take it instead as advice. He is right, you do find yourself bewitched by this place at times.

“Like that man,” he says staunchly, “don’t think I forgot. I will warn you, he is my brother… regrettably. He is well above the staff and he knows it.”

You take the hint. It’s improper of you to stare. Even if he had touched you. Or maybe, you misinterpreted an accident.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Hear me when I tell you, he is not interested in the likes of you,” he sniffs, “with any luck, he won’t be much around for you to believe anything of the like.”

You nod and pick up the pen, nervously rolling it between your fingers. His reproach scalds your cheek. To think he assumes you would ever think of something like that. That you might encourage a stranger in that way.

He watches you for a moment before he spins away. He checks the time on his wrist as you reach for the ledger.

“Very well, I must be at my own work,” he declares, “as I trust you will be diligent in your own.”

[klausinamarink]

Oop let's try this again; for the birthday fics: “Because you’re a jinx!” angsty Steddie established relationship, chasing fame Eddie and some guy Steve who gets discovered while Eddie's band keeps being passed over? Platonic hellcheer and platonic Stobin.

I couldn’t find a way to put in the platonic ships but it’s still Steddie. Enjoy the angsty flavour electric boogaloo.

It was supposed to be Eddie’s lucky day.

This was supposed to be his time. The moment when the rich suits would look at Eddie and immediately offer him the contract that finally pushed his music to fame.

But it was just another fucking mediocre performance. Only a few people out of the dozens in the crowd cheered, but that was worse than getting no response at all. Nobody even went up to them for an autograph, their numbers, Instagram handles, music samples, anything that would’ve made the night worth it.

Eddie stayed silent and seething for the whole drive home. The rest of the band left on their own respective vehicles, though Jeff had lingered longer to say something that Eddie mentally filtered out. Probably some shitty encouragement or a call to quit. 

His hands tightened around the wheel. Eddie felt the pulsing headache crawl to the back of his eyes. Goddamnit, he needed to sleep.

Maybe in Steve’s arms, but for once, Eddie just wanted to be alone for tonight. 

After he parked the car and trudged the stairs back to his apartment, Eddie bit his lip until he tasted the sting of copper. 

He was so tired. Not just physically, but in very foul shape that took its claws into him. It was the apathetic crowds and uninterested advisors. How the rest of the band delayed practice more and more. The bland methodical act of cutting up another piece of his shrinking soul as a muse for his lyrics. 

But still. He was close to that single star of recognition. Eddie had to taste it.

Unlocking the door, Eddie kept himself from collapsing until he dropped his guitar case and landed face-first on the couch. 

In the bedroom, he could catch some muffled conversation, the floor creaking as Steve paced back and forth inside. 

Eddie frowned and checked his phone for any missed messages. Steve hadn’t texted him since five,  soon after Eddie had left for the worst night of his life. It was almost eleven now. So why was his boyfriend still up and talking to someone?

Before Eddie could try and get up, the door opened and Steve came out, his phone in hand. Steve glanced up and stopped in his tracks when he saw Eddie. He gave a bright smile.

“Hey, babe! You okay?” 

Eddie groaned. If he had the energy, he could scream into the pillows.

The floor creaked as Steve approached and gently laid a hand on his back. “Was the band okay?”

Eddie groaned again, unable to hold himself back from pressing against Steve’s hand. He could really use a fucking massage. Or some quick, stress-relief sex. “It’s fucking awful. It’s always fucking awful.”

Steve made a sympathetic noise, “I’m sorry to hear that, Eds.”

Eddie lifted his head up and peered at Steve. Despite his words, there was an odd light in Steve’s eyes and his lips were fighting desperately not to smile.

“What is it?” He asked.

Steve had the nerve to look spooked, “Uh, well, I don’t want to ruin your mood-”

“What is it?”

Steve stared at him for a moment before he sighed like it was the start of a serious discussion.

“You know that audition I did back in Chicago two weeks ago?” Steve bit his lip. It only revealed the cracks of excitement on his face and Eddie already knew what he was about to say. “Well, my agent called and said that I’m officially casted. I’m gonna be in a HBO show!”

Record scratch.

Eddie only stared at Steve as the news hit him with the speed of a truck. When he saw Steve’s smile in full glory, he only saw blank faces who spat at him with rejection and disappointment and ‘try better’s. 

How the fuck does Steve get so many gigs when Eddie could barely find an open venue in advance? And now he’s going to work for fucking HBO, Jesus Christ-

Steve was frowning at him, “You- are you not happy?”

“Of course, I am!” Eddie said quickly. It felt hard to speak when there was something now stuck and burning in his throat. He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. He needed a drink. Maybe not alcohol, though tempting. But some actual water but he was too exhausted and sober for this shit. 

“I’m always here to support my wonderful and talented boyfriend who never misses an audition. Who always gets a spot in whatever he plays in, even if it’s a fucking diaper commercial or a glorified extra who gets five more cents than his less impressive boyfriend.” 

As he spoke, his words became more tinted with venom. Eddie took an empty glass and filled it under the tap. He almost choked from gulping it down in one go. It cooled his throat, but the burning simply expanded through his veins.

“Okay, you’re mad.” Steve said slowly, now behind him.

Eddie laughed bitterly, “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. They taught you that in acting class or was it a trick from your last ex?”

“Jesus, okay, Eddie.” Steve put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders but Eddie shook him off with more force than necessary. “You’re obviously in a bad mood and my news isn’t making it better, but you did ask and-”

Eddie whirled around. He was seeing red at the corners of his vision. “And now it’s my fault?!”

Steve backed away, his hands up in a plea of surrender. His face pinched with concern and hurt. “Eddie, let’s, let’s just go to bed. Take a shower-”

“Stop treating me like I’m a child!” 

“Fuck, even a child would tell me what’s making them this upset!”

“You wanna know why I’m so upset? Huh?” Eddie smacked a hand against Steve’s chest, pushing his boyfriend away. “Take a guess with your ‘subtlety’ talents and maybe you can fucking figure it out.”

“No, I- Eds, baby-” Steve stopped to take a breath. He looked back at Eddie with more firmness, but he saw the way Steve’s ego was crumbling in his eyes. “Can you please just tell me why are you acting like this? Was it because I did something or-?”

Eddie’s anger flared. It touched the back of his mouth so he spat it all out like a dragon. “Oh, everything you do with your squeaky clean and easy career is the reason why I’m pissed at you. You get all of these stupid roles to play some stupid character Twitter would make discourse for while I have spent the last three years trying to find someone who’s willing to listen to my band play in a goddamn studio! But I keep missing these opportunities for some reason that I’m starting to think that we’re cursed or shit.”

“Eds, it can’t-”

“And don’t you say you know how it feels like because you never knew how to fucking fail, Stevie! Everything you do is just rich executives giving you silver platters. I bet they all want that Harrington blowjob.”

Steve gasped softly and shook his head. He now had his arms around himself like it would protect him. “That’s not true- Why are you even saying these things to me?!”

“Because you’re a jinx! Because you’re Steve Harrington and I hate your dumb luck!”

Eddie’s words echoed across the apartment as he breathed heavily. He wouldn’t be surprised if it went out the windows and into the streets. 

Steve held an unbelievably idiotic expression. Mouth half-open, a slack jaw, glossy eyes that just stared at Eddie without any more light shining in them.

Finally, he spoke so quietly that Eddie had to strain to hear, “Okay… I’m going to Robin’s.”

With that, Steve hurried out, having some decency to not slam the door.

And then it was just Eddie, alone in the kitchen with the nasty thoughts and words that would soon bite back at him.

[see-arcane]

I figured I should interrupt everyone's dash for some notes on current real life things.

This is a hefty one, so I'm tucking everything below:

A little good news. As of this writing, I’ve sold 74 copies of The Vampyres, in eBook and paperback! That’s 74 more than I thought I would ever sell! Thank you to everyone who picked up a copy or asked your library to grab some. Especially when I know I haven’t been the most stellar self-marketer. I can’t remember the last time I opened the septic tank formerly known as Twitter, so it’s all been down to this little corner here and a skinny appearance in Goodreads. Which means I owe any attention this short and sinister tale has received to you all and plain old word-of-mouth.

That said, thank you x100000 to you and any new readers yet to take a look. (And doubly so for those of you who go out of their way to leave comments and reviews around for me to reread ad infinitum.)

For those not in the know, all the info on The Vampyres can be found here, and all my author odds and ends can be found on my website here.

On a less heartening note…

As I’d already expected, the market for career writers is…rough. Copywriting—and writing in general—is technically a big open field (full of caveat descriptions about having to work with/teach AI programs to eventually swallow your job)! Tons of open positions! Most of which either pay you in pocket change while you’re working full time or expect you to singlehandedly run the entire marketing of a business for slightly more pocket change. Everything else is bloated with contract and/or freelance work*.

*Read: Gig economy schlock trying to pass for an actual job position with payment being a coin toss. I’ve also seen one too many listings on the job boards that are volunteer positions. Plenty of exposure to rake in though, right? Ha. Ha ha.

I’ve still been applying like clockwork, same as the rest of my fellow creators trying to get by in a field that seems to actively punish trying to be a professional in said field, and still no bites further than an interview. I have years of experience and a degree, but everyone’s chasing the same crumbs, so. Yeah. I’ve got to start padding things out.

Reminder that I do have a (barely peddled) Ko-Fi. It’s there for art commissions and chucking a few spare bucks at. Which is an increasingly big ask these days, I know. You can’t scroll two posts down without hitting someone else’s Ko-Fi, Patreon, GoFundMe, Kickstarter, et cetera. We’re drowning in arting starvists here. And although I have been asked before whether I would consider going full Freelance Storywriter on top of selling art, I’m still a little hesitant on it. I do occasionally send out story submissions and have even gotten published a few times, but I get nauseous thinking about:

1) Putting up a paywall on the scribbles that assail me like a baseball bat wielded by an unmerciful Muse. 2) Putting up a ‘Stories for Sale!’ sign only to wind up disappointing prospective buyers because I didn’t do their blorbos justice even after researching X background for the piece. 3) Getting duped into being a nonconsenting ghostwriter and discovering someone else has published my work under their own name.

So, still a bit iffy on that. I’ll chew on it. But what else is left?

Before you click the button!

Stop!

NOT YET!

Before you click, please know that I am being serious about this as something to potentially make 1) something of good quality and 2) earn more money than it loses. Looking around at the merch-making/selling options, there are fees involved with making an account just about anywhere in the online store game, give or take the price tweaking needed for shipping and manufacturing blah blah blah.

With that in mind, please do not automatically hit ‘yes’ because you want to be nice. I appreciate it, but this isn’t the same thing as the Ko-Fi where there’s no real loss in just leaving it up and drawing something once every few months. This will take new designs, another subscription to pay for, more logistics to untangle for quality and pricing and all the rest of the mess. Only hit ‘yes’ if you, personally, genuinely, would like to purchase some nefarious See Arcane wares beyond a book or a digital drawing.

[urhoneycombwitch]

Heyyy! Just a quick little request that has been TAKING over my mind. GN!Reader that LOVESSSSS photography x Rockstar!eddie. LIKE Reader will be taking photos of him whenever because he’s just so goddamn pretty playing his guitar. And Eddie will snatch film and shit for them. I’d like to think that they both have Polaroid pictures of each other. Bonus points if reader doesn’t like taking pictures of themselves but LOVES taking pictures of Eddie. I DONT KNOW I JUST THINKS ITS CUTE AHHHHH. if it’s fluff, smut, whatever, you do you! :D Byeeeeeeeee

as a film photographer myself i feel uniquely qualified to add to this tysm anon 💖

gn!reader, +18 mdni

Eddie absolutely gets you the good shit. he makes it a habit to visit the local camera stores at every city when he’s on the road, shells out for high-quality film cuz you taught him right and he actually listens when you talk about your interests!!

constantly surprising you with new gear. he’s never had money like this before and the fact that he can actually buy his partner things is so fucking thrilling. if his baby wants a vintage Rolleiflex with Planar lens that’s what’s getting boxed up for ‘em.

once you and Eddie settle on a house, he sets up a whole darkroom on the lower floor- lets you pick out all the details, hires a plumbing guy to hook up water so that you can do your own film baths. Jonathan Byers is equal parts green with envy and grateful that you’re willing to share the space w/him whenever he comes out for a visit 😇

before you, Eddie never really liked his picture taken, tolerated the ordeal at best- Wayne showed you an old photo book one time, groused about his nephew making odd faces and being squirmy in front of the lens even as young as 4 years old. you’ve made up for it a hundred times over, tho- Eddie learned quick that you wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to your new muse.

you’ve got probably over a thousand pictures of him by now, in different states across the country, some on stage in full makeup shredding on guitar, a few that are widely recognized as Corroded’s album covers- but most are quiet, intimate. there’s this one you keep in your wallet, makes your heart flutter every time: Eddie leaned back in the grass on his elbows, soft sunlight filtered through the magnolia tree in your backyard, eyes crinkled at the corners and fixed on you behind the camera.

he’s got a bunch of you, too, of course- mostly Polaroids that are decidedly not for public eye. keeps those like a true gentleman safe in a shoebox under your bed at home: images burned into his brain by this point to take with him in memory while on the road. the soft shape of your thigh against a downy duvet, gleaming pearlescent with his cum. another of his hand wrapped around your throat, rings digging into gentle flesh under the blissed-out smile of your mouth that makes him ache somethin’ fierce just thinking about it.

there are others that he does keep in his wallet, more tame but just as searingly intimate, ones he’s taken after cajoling you in front of the lens or having won a tussle over whose turn it was to shoot whom. one of you with guitar cables looped neatly around either arm after a gig, nose crunched and mouth halfway to telling him off, irritation and fondness captured in bright flash. another of you stretched out in the front yard, one hand at your forehead to block the afternoon sun, the other resting placid on your stomach as you looked up at him.

“This one’s mine,” Eddie always says when asked about you, showing off the latest picture with a deep well of love and pride. he may as well start carrying an album for all the photos he carries of you.

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 8 - Fancy Dress

Full circle back to dad Price! Enjoy!~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How you had been talked into this, you had no innate idea. You were never one for fancy get-ups; you didn’t do well in front of people, and dressing in just about anything that wasn’t issued to you by the military felt…odd. But here you were, surrounded by soft lighting, piano music, and a sea of tuxedos and ball gowns.

There was one upside to this all of course; you weren’t alone. All but Ghost, naturally for privacy reasons, were just as gussied up as you were. Soap had tried so hard to talk Laswell out of making him get fitted for his tux, but she gave him that signature look that nobody could tell her no on.

The best of all though, had to be your dear Captain. John Price was a classy man to begin with, but wow did he know how to clean up. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, not as scraggy from what you were used to seeing on the battlefield. In general, he was just as attractive covered in soot and rubble as he was dressed to the nines. 

He caught you looking several times throughout the night, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been blushing each time you tore your eyes away. There’s no way he knew…right? Granted, a fancy gig like this could be just as dangerous as the battlefield, but…no, there was no way.

“Y/N! Having a good time my friend?” You heard, suddenly. Nikolai was clapping his broad hand down onto your shoulder, cheery as can be. Your whole body jumped as you were ripped from your reverie so abruptly.

“Y-yeah, it’s…” You fought with you frazzled mind for a good answer before sighing in defeat. “I’m so shit with social gatherings like this Nik. I think I might turn in for the night.” You rubbed the back of your neck nervously; fancy parties weren’t something you signed up for when you agreed to join the task force.

“I believe the Captain has been feeling the same,” Nik said, somewhat sadly. “He has never been one for parties or big crowds. You two share that in common.”

“Huh…” you mumbled, more to yourself than to the big Russian man with you.

“You know…he could probably use a hand finding his jacket,” came Nik’s voice again. “He’s getting up in age and all you know.” You laughed softly and thanked the pilot before wandering off. As he watches you go, Nikolai doesn’t miss another figure sauntering up beside him.

“Think they’ll finally get together?” Laswell asks, a confident smirk on her face. Her and Nikolai had been trying to get you and Price together for some time now. Tonight they had tried multiple times, sadly in vain. This was their final opportunity.

“I don’t see why not,” Nik responded. “The coat closet is a rather small space. But plenty of space for them to work out their…unresolved tensions.” Slowly, so as not to make himself known, the Russian man began to follow you, hidden behind the crowds as you finally caught up to the captain and yourself. “Sorry to squeeze in with you Cap,” you chuckled, sliding into the coat room alongside Price. Your body was so close to his is was nearly suffocating. You could smell his cologne plain as day, trying not to get distracted as he told you it was fine. 

The silence was excruciating until the captain spoke up. “Saw your eyes wandering quite a bit tonight,” Price mused, no longer looking for his suit jacket. He was watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye, waiting for your reaction. “Fancy me in a suit do you? Don’t lie to me now.”

Your hand froze as you actually managed to find Price’s jacket. Had he really been paying that much attention. “I…” you swallowed the lump in your throat and cleared it harshly before you answered. “I’d be lying if I didn’t Captain. You clean up well.”

“As do you,” you nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Price’s voice so close. “But these penguin suits are getting a bit old yeah? I say we do away with them.” You were frozen in shock, but didn’t dare stop him 

You couldn’t help the pleased shiver and you felt your captain’s rough hands slip beneath your dress shirt to touch you. You bit your lip harshly to muffle your moan as you felt one hand rub over your nipple while the other slips beneath the waistband of your slacks and underwear. Your hips bucked forward the moment his calloused fingers make contact with your sex, a harsh exhale ripping from your throat.

“Shh, pup,” Price hushes, kissing along your neck. His facial hair tickles as much as it burns along your skin in the most pleasant way. “Good god you’re eager. I’ll have to get dressed like this more often hmm?” You can’t help but nod as you lean into his touch, your ass grinding against his clothed member.

“That’s it sweetheart,” And there’s that growled praise that made your knees weak. “Being so good for me, so good and quiet while everyone outside this room is none the wiser.” His words turned your bones to jelly, spun through your mind. 

Between that, the warm breath along your neck, and the pleasure revolving around your sex, you literally couldn’t hold the flood gates closed. Your climax had your knees buckling as you moan out against Price’s hand. Strong arms held you close and helped you to the floor, despite the man’s eager member still erect against your ass. 

“Very good Y/N, very good,” your captain praised, sliding his hand out from near your sex. “Take some nice deep breaths, I’ll find my jacket, and we’ll continue this somewhere more…secluded, yeah?” You nod, barely comprehending his words. You raise a shaky hand to point behind the both of you to where you had seen the man’s jacket last. Price chuckles softly. 

“Thank you sweetheart, this fancy dress is more trouble than it’s worth.”

[sunburnacoustic]

Okay but ^

[fluentmoviequoter]

Best (Fake) Boyfriend

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: When you receive unwanted attention at a fancy restaurant, a handsome SWAT sergeant pretends to be your boyfriend to help you.

Warnings: pushy man is pushy and mean. Deacon is perfect and pretty. reader isn't rich (not necessarily poor, just usually unable to afford the vacation she's on). lots of fluff!! there's also a Psych reference and if you find it, we should be friends

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

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“It’ll be fun!” your best friend insists.

“I don’t know,” you reply.

“It’s just a weekend. This is the hottest resort in LA and we’re never going to be able to afford it again. Besides, it’s an Uber ride away, if you hate it after the first night, just go home. We wouldn’t hold that against you, swear.”

Closing your eyes, you nod. The small group of friends surrounding you cheers. After they force you to pack a bag, you find yourself in the back of an Uber driving through Beverly Hills.

“How did you get a room here again?” you ask.

“I got an insane discount voucher when I went to the grand opening of that new organic restaurant in Santa Monica!”

“And we’re just spending a weekend in the resort? Swimming, relaxing,” you trail off, unsure if you believe the lack of ulterior motives.

“Yeah,” your best friend answers, “plus rich men from the Hills.”

The Uber driver rolls his eyes, and you can’t blame him... not at all.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Save a whole school full of evacuees and you get a dinner reservation at a Beverly Hills resort,” Street muses. “I knew there was a reason I liked this gig.”

“You do know that place will be crawling with rich, single women,” Hicks begins.

“Yeah, we do,” Tan and Street cheer together.

“And badge bunnies,” Hicks finishes.

Street shrugs, and Deacon and Hondo shake their heads. 

“Do we have to attend?” Deacon asks.

“Why? Got better plans?” Street asks.

“A night in the hills isn’t everyone’s idea of a fun time, playboy,” Hondo answers. Deacon nods his agreement.

“Yes, you have to go. Mayor’s going to be there tonight, too. Every week like clockwork,” Hicks answers.

“Hey, Deac,” Street calls as they walk out. “What’s the real problem?”

“Just seems like a materialistic, money-based approximation of the worth of the lives we saved,” Deacon answers. “The mayor’s office just implied all those lives are worth approximately $650.”

“Those meals are over $125 each?” Luca gapes. “Sorry, I know that’s not the point.”

“It’s not the first or last time we’ll receive a monetary thank you, but at some point it becomes more about the reward after the job than the job itself,” Deacon adds.

“Maybe we’ll be there for a reason,” Luca offers. “But I get what you’re saying. We are focused on the job, and that’s all we can control.”

“Then I guess we should clean up. Places like that frown upon dirt covered tactical uniforms."

"Their loss; this is my best look,” Street jokes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Um, I can’t afford to look at this menu,” you say, pushing it back onto the table. “Maybe I should go find a diner or something.”

“It’s included,” your best friend whispers. “But we’re trying to play the part, so sit up and feel as good as you look in that outfit.”

Sighing, you straighten your shoulders, picking up the outrageously priced menu again and trying not to let your shock show. Indeed, you’ll never live like this again, but you’re not sure you’d want to even if you could.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Would it be wrong for me to say there’s one for each of us?” Street asks, glancing over his menu.

“Yes,” Deacon, Hondo, and Luca reply in unison.

“They’re women, not suits, Street,” Deacon adds.

“Think I could land one?” Street asks.

“Playboy,” Hondo sighs. “You don’t have enough game for half of one of those women, kid.”

“Really? ‘Cause the one in the blue’s lookin’ over here.”

“Probably at Deacon,” Luca says, keeping his eyes on the menu.

“Right,” Deacon agrees sarcastically. “I- honestly, I don't know what's in most of these foods, so one of you order for me.”

He sets his menu down, his gaze wandering to the table of women Street was talking about. One of them catches his attention, and when the four other women get up, giggling as they walk toward the bathroom, he decides he’s looking at a kindred soul.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Mind if I sit here for just a moment? My friends are running late, and the reservation is under another name,” a man explains, smiling as he looks at you.

“Uh, I don’t think-“

“Thanks,” he says, cutting you off as he sits beside you.

“My friends are coming right back,” you state. “So, you should find somewhere else to wait.”

“Sounds like you have time to kill, and I do, too. What’s your name?”

You don’t answer, fiddling with the bottom of the tablecloth as you watch the doorway for your friends to return.

“I can’t imagine someone ditching you.”

The man leans into your peripheral vision, and you turn your head away. When his hand brushes against your covered hip, you stand quickly.

“I told you that I didn’t want to talk, so you should find your way to your own table before I come back,” you say lowly before walking to the balcony entrance.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon tunes out his teammates as he watches a man sit beside you. Your obvious discomfort makes him eager to help. He stops at the thought that one uninvited man in your personal space is likely more than enough.

“Deac?” Hondo asks. “Oh,” he adds when he looks at what is so worthy of Deacon’s attention.

“Didn’t think he still had it in him,” Luca whispers to Hondo.

Deacon stands suddenly, his attention on your back as you walk onto the balcony. Hondo notices that the man beside you looks angry, and when he jostles the table in his haste to follow you, he knows why Deacon is so invested.

“Go help her out, Deac, we got your back,” Hondo says.

Deacon nods wordlessly, buttoning his blazer as he follows in your footsteps. His team looks on, sure that Deacon has control of the situation but is prepared to jump in if the situation calls for it.

“Deacon comes back with her glued to his side or that starry far-away look in his eye,” Luca announces. “Trust me.”

“My money’s on the first one. You see how she relaxed the moment her friends left? She’s just like him,” Tan points out.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Looks like you found your way to my table, too,” the man says behind you.

When you turn to face him, you step back. His jaw is tight, and his eyes look darker than they did inside.

“Change your mind about spending time with me, girlie?”

With your side to the door, you notice someone walk out, but don’t expect an arm to circle your waist a moment later.

“Hey, babe,” the man says. “What’s going on? Came back to the table and you were gone.”

Looking up at him, you sigh at the sight of his large, kind eyes. Trusting him, you relax against his side, raising a hand to press against his sternum.

“Sorry, handsome. This guy was waiting for his friends,” you explain.

“You need help finding your table or somethin’? This is a nice place, I’m sure they can help with that.”

The man clenches his fists at his side, looking between you and the man holding you to his side.

“Or do you need a different kind of help?”

The hand on your hip tightens, his touch still gentle as his voice drops. He’s defending you, angry for you, and though you don’t know why, you’re grateful.

“No, I’m good. Your ‘babe’ here might want to learn some manners, though.”

You press your hand against your guy’s chest when he tries to follow the man inside. Whispering your name to distract him, you sigh when his attention returns to you.

“I’m Deacon,” he replies. “Sorry for grabbing you.”

“Don’t apologize. Thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking walking out here alone.”

Your hand is still spread over his chest, his arm around your waist, and his hand rubbing soft circles on your hip. You know the moment has to end, but your desperation to draw it out outweighs your logic.

“Well, thank you, Deacon. You’re a great boyfriend; I’m sure there’s a very happy woman somewhere.”

Deacon’s hand moves to your waist as you move back, and he quickly raises the other to stop you. 

“There is no happy woman,” he responds. “I just- how often do you have to deal with stuff like that?”

“Not very often. Most guys get the idea, even if it takes a few tries. Never had to be saved like this before.”

Deacon sighs, disappointed either in you or the situation. You hope it’s the situation, and Deacon can practically read your mind.

“I’m a SWAT sergeant, and we have to watch for crossfire,” he begins.

You nod with furrowed brows, confused as to where this is going.

“I just will never understand how some men are so okay with not caring how many women they hurt in pursuing their own… whatever it is they’re looking for.”

“How? How is there no lucky woman?” you ask softly. “Between the kindness and the poetic speeches, you’re just begging to get snatched up.”

Deacon drops his chin, shaking his head as he smiles.

“Why’d you follow me?” you ask.

“You were uncomfortable. I noticed you before he sat down, and then when you stood up so fast I couldn’t just sit there. Especially when he followed you.”

“Then you can tell I don’t fit in here.”

“I can,” Deacon agrees before whispering, “because I don’t either.”

“Could you maybe ditch your friends?” you ask. “Let me call you handsome for a while longer?”

“You seem a bit too pleased to have a fake boyfriend who only came out here to scare somebody off.”

“Because my fake boyfriend is better than any real one I’ve ever had.”

Deacon smiles, pulling you against him. “I have to stay for dinner, it’s a work thing. But if you’re still up for pet names later, and tomorrow, and for a good, long while, I think we can work something out.”

“I will be.”

“Have your phone?”

You pull your phone from your pocket, unlock it, and hand it to him. He keeps one hand on your side as he adds his contact, sending himself a text with your name. After he returns your phone, he sighs.

“The moment’s over?” you ask.

 “The moment is on hold,” Deacon corrects.

“Enjoy your work dinner. I’m going to go have a free dinner and listen to my friends pretend they belong here.”

“Feel free to sit at my table if you need a break. I’m sure they’re talking about you already. Trying to decide if I’ll actually act on my feelings or just come back in alone and puppy-like.”

You smile, slowly separating yourself from Deacon. Walking in first, he holds the door for you, and you brush your knuckles against his hand before returning to your table. As you sit, your eyes stray to Deacon and never leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

“That little hand thing counts, right?” Tan asks.

“Counts for what?” Deacon inquires as he sits.

“I thought you’d come back with your arm around her.”

“We’re, uh, we’re gonna keep talking later.”

“Atta boy, Deac!” Luca cheers.

“Why didn’t you invite her over?” Hondo asks. “This may be a work thing, but that doesn’t mean it has to be boring.”

“I did. If she gets tired of her friends, she’ll be over.”

“Yeah,” you interject, pausing at the corner of their table. “I’m tired of my friends and your table seems like a better fit.”

Street, Luca, and Tan rush to pull a chair over for you, arguing over who gets the credit. You laugh at their antics as Deacon tells you everyone’s names.

“Nice to meet you. And thanks for letting me crash your dinner,” you say.

“So, what do you think of our Deacon here?” Luca asks, smiling kindly.

“I think he’s great,” you answer honestly. Turning toward him, you whisper, “And handsome.”

“Are pet names our thing now?” he asks.

“Hey, you started it, babe.”

Deacon dips his chin before his eyes rise to yours, and you think ‘beautiful’ might be a better fit for him. Luckily, he promised plenty of time to try all the pet names you can think of.

[lil-ms-darkness]

Warm Like Baked Bread: Bigby Wolf x Goldilocks!Fem!Reader

A/N: I wrote this a while ago, and I hope you enjoy it.

For comic readers, this is an AU where Goldilocks is not a total extremist psychopath and is, instead, a survivor of circumstance. Living with the human Fable community in New York.

I have a few more small continuations to this in the works, so if you enjoyed this one, you can look forward to those.

-Lil_Ms_Darkness

“Come on in!” The woman calls from inside.

Bigby knocks on the wooden door, already able to smell the fresh baked goods from outside. 

He looked to his right, finding her in the small kitchenette with a loaf of freshly baked bread cooling on the counter next to a couple cubes of decorated fabric, two decently sized boxes on the small island. 

Just inviting people inside can’t be very safe But he tries the doorknob anyway, stepping through the door, closing it and walking down the small hallway that opens up into a one room apartment, a small love seat to the far right, back against a pony wall that a twin sized bed rested against on the other side. The bed has one long pillow, a plush looking throw at the end and a sea of stuffed animals. Against the wall across from the love seat, a tv set rests, framing two windows with sheer curtains. 

“Are you just going to stand there, inspecting my home or are you going to come in, properly?” She asks and he notices the curly blonde hair tied into a messy bun, plain jeans and t-shirt covered by a pink apron. When she looks over at him, a single curl falls past her brow, warm eyes examining him for a brief moment before returning to her work. 

Yeah, I do have the smallest apartment. Damn.

“Nice place you got here.” He muses as she sets a plastic container holding 6 muffins on top of one of the fabric squares, covering them and popping the holes in to protect the product before she wraps them up with a small bow tied in the fabric on top. She moves to set the muffins in one of the boxes, but he can still smell the baked blueberries and sweet, cooked sugar. 

“Thank you, Sheriff. You’re welcome to sit at the island, if you’d like.” She offers without looking at him.

“I’m not here for an order, I need to ask you a few questions.” But he steps on the other side of the counter to stay out of her way. Her meticulous movements seem rehearsed and fluid like water. 

“Ask away.” She says simply, continuing on her work. 

“I understand you have a baking business,” he gestures to the pans and assorted baked items littering her countertops, “-do you do this full time?”

“Doesn’t leave you much down time.” He mutters

“Not quite. I have a full time job at the Trip Trap as a bartender. It’s not super busy, but since Lily was- ahem, since Lily passed, Holly needed a little more time so she could focus on herself a bit more. Woody talked me up to her, and boom, full time gig. When I’m not working there, I’m either delivering orders, or preparing orders.” 

“No, but if you have a goal, sacrificing a little bit of forever doesn’t seem so bad.” She smiles, faintly. “And when I open up my Bed and Breakfast, it’ll all be worth it.” She sighs, softly and dreamily.

“Bed and Breakfast, huh?”

“Many of us are down on our luck, barely scraping by. Just look at Toad and TJ. I’m planning to open up my Bed and Breakfast to help Fables have a safe, clean place to go. Besides the Farm.” She wraps up the now cooled loaf of bread, “Why the interest in my career?” 

“Have you been approached by anyone wanting to purchase sweets specifically for Snow White?” He leans forward, gauging her reaction.

Her eyes move up to his in an instant, 

“She’s okay, right?” 

 “If you know something you need to tell me.”

“You do know something.” He examines her eyes, and he can read concern in them.

 She definitely was approached by our guy.

“No, she’s safe.” He says, calmly.

“Yes, a gentleman asked for a special delivery to the Business Office for Snow White. 3 boxes of white chocolate covered strawberries and a raspberry drizzle with an apple crumble pie.” She says cautiously and Bigby squints at the mention of an apple pie. “I had the same reaction, Sheriff. I don’t read other Fables stories, but it doesn’t take a genius to know how she’d feel about that one...she is okay, right? I refused to do it, he didn’t do anything to her, did he?”

“Good.” She sighs, and pulls down a plate and a small fork, setting a muffin onto it. 

“Did he give you a name?”

“I’m pretty sure he gave me a fake one,” she uses a butter knife to cut open the muffin before adding some butter to it, “but he gave me an alternate delivery address before I refused the order. Something about 'I understand that interacting with a princess would be nerve wracking'.” 

“Do you still have it? The address?”

“I might, let me check.” She sets the plate with the muffin in front of him, wiping her hands on her apron and opening a drawer, digging around it.

“Free sample?” He asks, glancing down at the muffin. He can smell it already and it smells delicious. 

“A thank you.” She corrects without looking up from the drawer.

“For?”

“Can’t say I’m surprised you don’t remember. You ate a man who was trying to get into my treehouse back in the Homelands. I doubt you did it to help me, you looked hungry, but it doesn’t change the fact that you may have saved me from worse horrors that day.” 

“Mmm, most people would’ve been worried I’d eat them, too.” He muses.

“Maybe that’s why I’m feeding you now, you’ll never know.” She pushes something else aside in the drawer as she speaks, then lets out a little “There you are.” before pulling out a piece of paper, torn from a full sized piece of lined paper. She hands it over and he takes it, reading the address. 

He has what he came for, but the muffin still permeates his senses. He picks up the fork and tears a piece of muffin off, inhaling the scent again with a slow sniff through his nose.

“Don’t worry, I only use the best poison for clients of your magnitude.” She smirks for the first time and his brown eyes lifted to meet hers, clearly not amused with the joke. “I’m joking, I doubt poison would kill you anyway. And the last thing I need is the charge of killing the Sheriff of Fabletown on my rear.” He looks down at the muffin on the fork before he decides to take a bite. It was warm and fresh, the blueberries moist and the sugar sprinkled on top of the muffin crunchy and flavorful. “Besides, I’m sure there’s a reason the other Fables fear you.” 

He pauses, another piece of muffin close to his lips. 

“You don’t know why they’re all afraid of me?” He sounds genuinely confused and surprised. 

“I don’t read stories of other Fables, remember? Red did try to tell me about an encounter you two had at some point, something about her grandmother, but to tell you the truth, I was dealing with my own demons that I didn’t really hear her story fully. Then when Woody took me under his wing, he told me a bunch of stories about you, but honestly they all just sounded like someone trying to be bigger and badder than the next. So, I felt like it was pointless to hate you for things that didn’t directly involve me.” She shrugs, “Easy to say when you’re not experiencing what everyone is telling you about, but I don’t really care.”

“You knew Red?” He sounds surprised, “And the Woodsman?” Then he just sounded dumbfounded. 

“Woody isn’t a bad guy, a little unorthodox maybe, and a little bit of an alcoholic with a tendency for dumb decisions, but not inherently bad. As for lil Red, she was my best friend after my mother abandoned me.” She smiles softly at the thought of her friend. His brow furrows as he looks at her; he’d always thought she got lost in the woods after going too far out, or maybe just got bored and decided to wreak some havoc like many children do. Maybe made a mistake but tried to rectify it and be better, like himself. “Surprised, aren’t ya? That’s why I don’t read the stories, because mine is all messed up. Mom abandoned me in the middle of the woods and left, I haven’t seen her since. One thing they don’t mention was I was 5 at the time, and had spent the better part of a month in the woods, starving and freezing. So when I came across the Bear’s home, I went in and I ate their porridge and slept in their beds, I tracked mud in their chairs. But not because I wanted to, but because it was either  that or die, and I wanted to take advantage of the little bit of comfort I’d found.”

He didn’t remember asking, and he wonders why she seems so comfortable telling him her whole life story. Then again, he was still eating her muffin and he supposes he owes her a small token, after feeding him and giving the information he needed without any trace of being needing to pry it out of her. It likely would have taken this long if it were Holly or anybody else in Fabletown. He supposes she deserves an ear to listen. Besides, the strange sense of normalcy in how she spoke to him was oddly pleasant. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were friends for years. But the moment comes to a close as he finishes the last bite of his muffin and decides it’s time to get on his way.

He stands and sets the fork on his plate, 

“Do you want me to put this in the sink for you?” He asks but she shakes her head, “Alright then. Have a good night.” He heads for the door.

“Sheriff,” She calls and he glances over his shoulder to offer her his attention in pure silence. “In my line of work, both at the Trip Trap and in my own business, a lot of gossip passes me by. If you ever need information, my door is open to you. If I know something, I’ll share it.”

“And what do you want in return?” There’s always a catch, he knows there’s something. Nobody ever gives something for nothing, especially not to the Big Bad Wolf.

“You let me feed you when you come to visit.”

“That’s not much of an exchange.”

“Then, how about you get to know me, that way if you hear a version of that messed up story you can debunk it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, looking at her kind, inviting eyes. He nods once and turns, 

“Thank you, Goldilocks.”

“[F/N].”

“Hmm?”

“Call me [F/N].” 

Now alone in the hallway, he pulls out his pack of cigarettes and grabs one between his lips before he lights it. He takes a puff and pulls out the address on the paper. He suspects he’ll see her again, whether it be for information or just for another muffin. As he tucks the address away and walks down the hall, he almost looks forward to coming back.

“...Thank you, [F/N].” He heads to the door, opening it and closing it behind him. 

[rendy-a]

hi hi! can I ask for some househusband Ruggie with a side of cottagecore? the literal kind- fluff, and tysm for writing! his S/O has a garden full off food, can work carpentry and the repair work, so.. does he just decide to be a malewife with the occasional side gigs? (at least half of his living costs just became free) how would he navigate a life like that? would he brag about his S/O? did he pull a 'yes I do the cleaning yes I-' in the head the second he learnt about it? ty again!

Thank you for the request! I had to look up what Cottagecore was but, agh! that fits Ruggie so well. He'd love to have such a self-sufficient spouse as his partner. I hope you enjoy my musings about living in the countryside with Ruggie.

He can’t get used to having food available all over.  Garden, check.  Orchard, check.  Canned food in the pantry, yes.  Homemade bread on the table, you know it.  Is this home or a buffet?  He can’t help but hoard a little bit of food in his Tupperware.  Luckily, turning those leftovers into new meals is also one of your hobbies.

Ruggie has spent so much time doing odd jobs that he can’t comfortably sit still for long periods of time.  You introduce him to some of your idle hobbies to help him deal with the change.  Knitting on the porch wiles away the evening.  You’ll each have a new pair of warm socks before winter.  When the snow keeps you indoors, you teach Ruggie how to needlepoint.  Embroidered cushions make great gifts (and are easy to sell in the summer farmer’s market shishishi!)

Self-sufficiency means making a lot of things yourself.  Ruggie is used to fixing items from his odd jobs but you are full-on making things from scratch.  Whether it is furniture, a new garden bed or a replacement roof on the shed; if something needs making, you are making it together!  You need to teach him the ropes, but Ruggie makes for a first-class woodworking assistant.  There is nothing more satisfying than finishing a project that you’ve done together.

Deep fall was setting in and Ruggie was doing his annual check-over for winter.  You both knew it was unnecessary, but it gave him comfort to know things were there, so you ignored it.  You passed by the root cellar and could hear him counting jars of your canned food.  “How are things looking down there?” you called to him.  You heard a surprised yelp from below before your spouse’s face appeared in the stairwell.  “Geeze, don’t scare me like that.  I almost dropped a jar of peaches,” he reproaches you gently.  You smile an apology to him.  “I think we’ll be ok.  Might have to ration the berry jam; I wish we’d have noticed when the birds started in on our bushes,” he finishes with an annoyed expression.  You give him a grunt of agreement and wander away. 

The next time you noticed your spouse doing his secret inspection was the following day.  You were returning from the neighbor’s place.  You had an arrangement with them to trade some of your special recipe canned tomato sauce for their soft, homespun yarn.  You had chosen a yarn ball with golden hues that reminded you of your spouse’s adorable ears.  You smiled as you walked over the last hill separating your home from the next and caught sight of those same adorable ears poking up from the rooftop.  You knew what he was doing up there; checking for leaks and worrying that your little nest would be less than cozy over the cold winter months.  Even so, you called up to him, “Lose something up there?”  He jumps up and looks down at you guiltily, “Ah no.  I thought I heard a bird or something trapped up here and came to give it a look.”  You smile at him, “Find any?”  He looks at you suspiciously, “No but maybe I should keep looking.”  You wave a goodbye, “Ok Dear, just be down in time for dinner.  I’m making those biscuits you like so much.”

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, but it usually is.  One of your favorite parts of living in the countryside is the silence that comes from having no close neighbors.  You love the soft change in melody when the birds stop chirping and the night insects take over instead.  You open the oven a tiny crack to check on your cooking (it’s progressing well) and then wander off to find your spouse.  Ruggie is in the linen closet checking over your warm blankets; probably both counting the quantity and searching for holes that need mending.  “How’s the inspection going?” you ask from behind.  Ruggie heaves a tired sigh, “It’s all in order.”  You tilt your head to the side, “You don’t sound happy about that.” 

He grabs the collar of his shirt and looks at you accusingly, “It’s not right.  Something doesn’t feel right.  Life can’t be this easy.  My life can’t be this easy.” He finishes quietly looking at you out of the corner of his eye.  You step to his side and rub his back comfortingly.  You’d chase all his demons away, if you could but you know this is a battle for him to conquer himself.  You lay your head briefly on his shoulder and remark, “Diner will be done soon.  Come sit down whenever you are ready.”  Then you give him a kiss on the cheek and head back to the kitchen.

One of your favorite things about cooking for Ruggie is how thoroughly he enjoys his meals.  He eats your simple fare with relish, lip-smacking after each course.  “Seconds?” you ask impishly.  He gives you a wide grin and holds out his plate.  You put another helping on and he thanks you with his signature “Shishishi!”  When you finally gauge that even a glutton like Ruggie has had his fill, you come over to collect his plate.  You put your arm around him and kiss the top of his head, “All set?”  He lets out a contented huff and puts his hand on your arm, “Yeah, I’m full.”  You move to grab the plate, but he does not release your arm.  You look down at him and he mutters, “So full.”  Then he leans his head into your belly and closes his eyes.  You move to give him a full embrace and lean your head on the top of his own. 

The winter winds would come soon but what did it matter when your cottage was so filled with warm love.

[misseviehyde]

MY BOYFRIEND, THE SUPER MODEL

You were pretty surprised when the invitation came to attend an exclusive fashion shoot in Milan... especially when it was addressed to your boyfriend Chris.

He opened it, frowned then laughed and shrugged slightly.

"When I was younger," laughed Chris - "my aunt who works in the fashion industry used to make me model girls clothes and pretend to be her daughter. For years she's been trying to get me to do it again."

"Your aunt made you dress up as a girl?" you asked bemused.

"Errrrr not quite," muttered Chris. "She used to give me this Elixir stuff and it actually made me into a girl. I became this annoying little bitch called Cristy. My Aunt said I had the perfect bone structure to be a girl and that when I grew up I could be a top super model if I wanted. Cristy was well up for it."

"You're talking about her like she was a different person," you gulped.

"She kind of was and that was the problem. She was a annoying little diva who was going to grow up spoiled and evil. My Mom rescued me and made me go cold-turkey till I turned back into her son. Cristy has been gone since then. Fuck I wonder what she would look like now? Guess that's what my aunt is trying to convince me to try."

"But what does the invite say?" you askes curiously.

"It says she needs a top model for her fashion show in Milan and if Cristy does it - she'll pay me a million dollars and write me into the will."

"A million? Holy shit - that's insane!" you gasp.

"Not really. The top models get 20 to 40 million depending on the gig."

"Maybe you should do it? We could use the money and you're older now. You can keep Cristy under control and I can make sure you get turned back."

"I don't know," mused Chris reluctantly. "I... I had to work hard to free myself of her. But I suppose for all that money..."

"How much harm can it do?" you asked. "You love me and with a million in the bank we can do what we like."

Chris nodded reluctantly... though only partially, as if some part of him was actually pleased.

"Very well, I'll book the flights."

*********

Milan was beautiful though you hadn't seen that much yet. A private cab whisked you and Chris away to the centre where you were taken to hotel where the models were staying.

Beautiful women moved around the lobby like they inhabited some different universe. Their graceful movements made you feel small and weak.

You were taken to a room where a whole suite of beautiful women's clothing and makeup was waiting. On a table by one wall stood a rack of pink vials. Chris walked over.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?"

Without waiting for an answer he raised the vial to his mouth and drank it all.

"Ohhhhh fuck, I forgot how good this stuff tasted. How it made me feel. Mmmmmh I haven't transformed into a girl for years... mmmmh no... this time, I'm becoming a woman not a girl. Cristy is coming back baby!"

Chris began to groan and giggle, pulling at his clothes and laughing as he struggled out of them. Bones were popping and cracking and his hair was already lengthening as Cristy's perfect features replaced his.

His flat chest swelled out as two huge natural breasts grew there. Grabbing them Chris squeezed happily, his pouting mouth parted in ecstasy as he transformed.

High cheek bones, soft skin and luuxrious hair framed his transformed body and his face altered to become super beautiful. The bitch standing unashamedly naked in front of you now had a perfect ass and body, with firm full tits and gorgeous silky hair. She would look good in anything.

"See," purred the reborn Cristy in a deliciously sexy voice. "He warned you I was pretty and as you can see I am."

"Chris?" you asked in astonishment.

"Weren't you listening to anything he had to say loser? I'm Cristy - the girl he used to be, though I'm all grown up now. For fucks sake - help me get dressed and let's find my aunt. I can't wait to get back on the catwalk."

*********

Cristy was a quick learner or she already knew how to do things. She explained she'd been lurking in Chris' subconscious for a long time.

"I can't believe it's been so long since I was free. Still - at least I'm finally back. Thanks bitch for convincing that loser to become me again. This time he won't get free of me."

"No... that isn't the plan. You're gonna earn that money then go back to being Chris."

"Oh really? What the fuck do I get out of that arrangement? Errrr how about I find my aunt, launch my new modelling career and become rich and famous. Yeah, we'll go with that plan." Laughing Cristy turned on her heels and clopped off to find her aunt.

**********

Cristy Rio was famous, beautiful and rich.

Girls wanted to be her and men wanted to fuck her.

Thanks to her rich, well-connected aunt she'd experienced a meterioric rise in the fashion industry and was now a super succesful model and socialite.

She was also your former boyfriend.

Without putting too much a finer point on it, you'd made a big mistake helping her get control back of Chris. Now she was in charge and there wasn't any reason for Chris to ever want to return.

She was an international star and a total bitch.

She was your boyfriend, the super model.

[ofinfinitedreams]

To be part of one of the most successful bands (Rage Nation) in the business was such an achievement. Every night Alex performed was such a rush of adrenaline. It was the greatest feeling to have your songs sang back to you. There was nothing quite like it. It was indescribable. At the moment it was festival season so she and her band had a few gigs lined up, but at this moment the brunette was here at this bar to celebrate one of her oldest and dearest friends’ birthday. It was a thankful time to celebrate and mingle with the other elite musicians that were in her orbit. After an hour or so the party was in full swing. There was a copious amount of alcohol and music was blaring within the karaoke section. Her body was absolutely buzzing with giddiness as she was urged to take up position on the stage for a random duet. A soft chuckle fell from her lips as she waited for her partner and their song selection of choice. She prayed it was someone she knew well, but she was here to have fun and enjoy herself which is exactly what she was doing, so she didn’t mind if it wasn’t. She’d eat them alive and absolutely kill whatever song was about to play, she mused to herself and the crowd cheered in anticipation. A shy smile graced her features as she saw him take to the stage as well. Andrew Harris. She knew him a little and glad it's him out there with her. Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado.Timbaland started and feels electric when she hears him start to sing along ready for her to join.

@isles-of-man