#telephone equipment

[goshyesvintageads]

Western Electric Co, 1949

[dbpequipment]

Avaya IP phones are devices that are designed to provide businesses with a secure, reliable, and efficient means of communication. These phones are an excellent choice for businesses that need to keep in touch with customers and colleagues without the need for a separate telephone system.

[cid5]

United States Army Signal Corps using captured German telephone equipment, World War I.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Renault Modus Concept, 1994. A prototype multi-function modular commercial vehicle that had a base cab/chassis and a series of pods that could be fitted to suit multiple services. Presented at the Paris Motor Show, it could be transitioned from a pick-up, to a van, a refrigerated van or a 6 passenger taxi. The fully glazed cabin was equipped with an early satellite navigation system, telephone and fax machine.

[collapsedsquid]

At first, the F.B.I. and other investigators believed that China’s hackers used stolen passwords to focus mostly on the system that taps telephone conversations and texts under court orders. It is administered by a number of the nation’s telecommunications firms, including the three largest — Verizon, AT&T and T-Mobile. But in recent days, investigators have discovered how deeply China’s hackers had moved throughout the country by exploiting aging equipment and seams in the networks connecting disparate systems. [...] But the Chinese activity in the past year has taken these intrusions to a new level, Mr. Warner said on Thursday. “This is far and away the most serious telecom hack in our history,” he said. “This makes Colonial Pipeline and SolarWinds look like small potatoes.” He said that only in the past week had it become clear that “every major provider has been broken into.” The hackers were not able to listen to conversations on encrypted applications, like those carried over WhatsApp or Signal. Nor could they read encrypted messages, such as those sent from one iPhone to another over Apple’s iMessage system. But they could read regular text messages between an iPhone and an Android phone, for example, or listen to phone calls over the ordinary telephone networks, much as the government can if it has a legal order. The Chinese went after the conversations of national security officials, politicians and some of their staff, investigators have concluded. There may have been several Chinese groups at work, said a senior official involved in the investigation, who noted that one of them might have focused on Mr. Trump and Mr. Vance.

How nice of the US government to provide a convenient method for it to be spied on

[windvexer]

Spirit Vessel Theory & Practical DIY (Traditional Witchcraft Flavored)

(Written in response to an Anon whom I think is probably involved in spirit conjure community, which is where conjurers put spirits inside of a vessel for you and ship them to you. Anon requested to know tips on how to transfer a spirit to a new vessel)

✨big heckin UPG ALERT ahead for the ENTIRE POST✨

In this post, a spirit vessel is any object, including a container filled with objects, which serves as a spirit's physical foothold into our present reality.

Three Varieties of Spirit Vessels: Telephone, Body, House

Please note the particular absence of trap or prison: there is no need for any practitioner to trap or seal a spirit inside of a vessel. This is what we do to unwanted spirits to relocate them to a second location, and it's not how we treat our friends.

My categorization of spirit vessels relates to how the spirit is intended to engage with the vessel.

Telephone Vessel: This is the kind I've most commonly seen and heard of in the conjure community. The spirit lives/exists Elsewhere, but the practitioner has given them a link of communication to this physical object.

The practitioner then works over the object to "call" the spirit and ask it to arrive in their location, or visit it Elsewhere, or just talk while they are in separate locations.

In my opinion, the "telephone" vessel is the least impactful type for the purposes of allowing spirits into our lives, but it's great at what it does: serving as a telephone line. However, as I hope this post will go on to show, it's also the easiest to make because the vessel requires the least amount of preparation and care.

Body Vessel: This is when the spirit vessel is meant to be the body of the spirit as it dwells on Earth. When a vessel is consecrated and dedicated to a spirit, it's understood to be the spirit itself. The form that the vessel takes influences the spirit's ability to work in our reality.

Body vessels may end up looking like little figurine versions of the spirit in question, but they can also be containers specially prepared with decorations and objects heavily linked to the spirit's essence.

Direct examples in witchcraft and folk magic include house and kitchen dollies that are meant to help lighten the load of chores or stop food from burning. Such dolls may be equipped with little brooms, multiple hands, and so forth, to assist with chores.

Another example of a body vessel is the Decaying River God. To create this vessel, I made a deal with the river and then embodied a spirit into this intuitively crafted form. Now, that physical object has become the sacred body of a spirit.

Just as the kitchen doll may be given a broom to assist with sweeping, a spirit's body may be equipped with tools to grant them additional influence and abilities in our world. A related example in witchcraft is to put the feet of small, scurrying Earthen animals (such as a rat or mole) into charm bags, so that the spell can scamper to its destination.

Just because the spirit has a body vessel does not mean they are permanently bound inside of that vessel. Accidentally breaking or losing the vessel isn't like harming the spirit (although obviously it's to be avoided).

Spirits which were born Elsewhere are perhaps more likely to come and go from body vessels, but even beings born with the creation of their body may still leave that physical space and return to it as desired.

House Vessel: This is the same thing as a spirit house or shrine, just a step to the left. We might equip the body vessel with objects that grant the spirit additional powers and capabilities, but in the house vessel, I tend to organize things to be a pleasant and enjoyable respite for the spirit, almost like a custom bedroom.

There may be no object or representation that's intended to be the body of the spirit at all. Nonetheless, the space is still one where the spirit may be fully invited and present, and gives them a strong foothold in our world.

The only real difference I draw between a house vessel and a shrine or spirit house is the intent. A shrine may be to venerate, and a spirit house may be a kind act of providing shelter. But the house vessel's intent is to create a space that makes it easier for a spirit to fully Show Up to our present reality.

Which Variety is Best?

This depends on your needs. For the purposes of witchcraft, spirits are often best given bodies that reflect their nature and empower them to carry out your purpose. I also hold this to be true for spells and any other variety of guy.

Spirits whom we're getting to know, but aren't quite sure of yet, may be best limited to "telephone" status.

House vessels - I haven't got a lot to say, except bringing up the point of them.

You can have multiple telephone lines and house vessels, yet intuition advises that really only one Body should do for the average spirit.

Vessels Themselves Can Suck So It's Worthwhile to Put Some Thought Into It

I believe that the more a spirit vessel is the embodiment of the spirit themselves, the easier it is for the spirit to use that vessel to interact with us and our present reality.

An extreme example can help demonstrate this point.

Imagine you've gotten to know a water spirit. A mermaid, let's say, from an ocean world of pure, opalescent waters, where coral reefs are cities and pet jellyfish are decorated with pearls.

Imagine that the vessel for this mermaid is a jar painted red and decorated with symbols of fire, then further charged with fiery energy. Within the jar is rusty nails, polluted water from the side of the highway, and a heaping spoonful of chili flakes.

I would hazard a guess that you couldn't even agree to get that mermaid to use such a vessel as a telephone line, much less use it as their physical body.

It's not that the spirit is snooty - it's that you're asking him to come into contact with things that irritate and burn him. Not only would it require a huge amount of energy to overcome these differences, but the vessel would nonetheless cause him discomfort.

Intuition may even advise that a simple bowl of water would create a vastly improved "house" vessel for this spirit.

But if it's true that a vessel can be incompatible with a spirit, then it's reasonable to assume that a vessel can be made more and more compatible with a spirit, until it is highly compatible and therefore very easy for the spirit to link to it and use it.

To really improve our mermaid vessel, we might embroider the outside of a bag with a representation of a coral reef, place jellyfish charms and imitation pearls inside of it, and often soak the entire bag in cool, pure water.

This may be the perfect vessel for our mermaid, but totally unsuitable to the pollution monster, who wants to live inside of the rusty nails jar.

This is the primary reason why I find simple unmodified single-object vessels to be not that great. (Examples of this would be, a crystal ring or antique object purchased and used without modifying it to the tastes of the spirit)

While a spirit may select such an object from a lineup and request it's use as a vessel, that doesn't mean that it's going to be an effective vessel.

Especially combined with beliefs in witchcraft about the magical impact of modifying vessels to encapsulate the power of a spell or spirit,

I believe that an unmodified object for use as a spirit vessel is like casting a candle spell with a plain candle to which no herbs or energies are added, and all you do is imprint your raw intent and light the candle.

It'll maybe work, but not nearly as well as it could.

Therefore I believe the form of the vessel matters beyond whether or not the spirit personally likes it, and extends into the realm of sorcerous technique - spirit manifestation is affected depending on if the spirit vessel is made well or made poorly, and especially how much it is physically personalized to the spirit.

Creation of a Useful Vessel

In all cases: Modify the object(s) of the vessel as much as possible to reflect the nature and known qualities of the spirit. As much as possible, work with the spirit to choose modifications, or, work with known lore or with the assistance of spirit workers or diviners.

In the case where a single object (such as a stone) must be used:

Tie the object up in a net where each knot represents a foothold for the spirit to cling on to, or, where each knot ties up a bundle of energy of the sort of thing the spirit likes. (Can be then worn as necklace)

Paint or carve the object, even in a hidden area.

Add additional decorations and embellishments to reflect either the nature of the spirit, or to represent useful tools that the spirit can use to access the object.

Carve out the middle and add bits of paper (with name and permissions written on), and stuff with relevant herbs.

Sight-unseen, I wouldn't recommend single object vessels if you can't heavily/permanently modify them.

In the case where a container vessel (such as a bag, box, or bottle) may be used:

Decorate the exterior, and if space permits the interior, of the container to best reflect an environment enjoyable to the spirit. Consider various techniques: painting, embroidery, carving, burning, and so forth.

Selectively include objects which reflect the spirit's nature, including dried plants, stones, feathers, seeds, bones, and various objects from nature; also charms, trinkets, and tokens (factory-made is fine); also prayers or poems, or drawings or artwork, all of these things symbolic of the spirit and attempting to demonstrate its nature and totality

Include a written sigil or signature of the spirit, and it's name or known names, and epithets. Often best done in fancy magical ink if any is on hand. (I use Sharpies; no need to over-think it)

Charms, amulets, plants, prepared powders or oils, or otherwise, for the purpose of facilitating spirit manifestation and ease of travel between worlds; examples may include specially prepared threads to symbolize links and roads, special spirit-calling powder, magnets to "draw towards," symbols of the Crossroads or of safe and easy travel, and so forth.

In the case where the spirit is likened to an earthly animal, bones or preserved body parts are a very good addition.

In the case where the vessel is itself in the form of a body, such as a figurine or doll:

Hand-craft or heavily modify the creation to represent the vibes as much as possible

Dress, accessorize, ornament, and decorate the figure to represent the spirit or it's known attributes and purposes.

As handicrafters known more about their trade than I do, I don't want to over-comment. Make them a little body. Yes.

Inviting the Spirit to Utilize the Vessel

Unfortunately I will decline to try and provide a specific step-by-step ritual, mostly because I work more intuitively and don't actually have one written up.

But I'll do my best to explain how you can go about it, and some things to consider.

Basically, you'll want to conceptualize four steps:

Final magical preparations

Consecration

Dedication

Invitation

I'll try to explain the reasoning behind including these things, and of course, you'll want to modify or change all of them according to your preferences and needs.

In all cases: Use your magic to make the vessel lovely and filled with spiritual virtues that resonate deeply with the nature of the spirit. This is necessarily vague; a troubleshooting primer for energy work is beyond the scope of this post.

The timing of this work is very well done on special days where the spirit-roads are open, on full moons, or on Mondays.

In cases where the spirit already has a vessel and you want to give them a new one, there is no difference in operation. Make profane and reclaim the old vessel afterwords according to your desires.

Fill the vessel with two types of energy: The first being dense caloric energies from foods, especially oil, nuts, seeds, eggs, and fatty meat. This can be done by placing a food offering next to the vessel and dedicating the food to the spirit.

The second being ethereal and subtle energies, such as produced from blessed incense or energy work. This can be done by blessing and offering incense as you normally do, or channeling your personal energy into the vessel.

Consecrate the vessel: Perform any charm or ritual in your practice which delineates an object as being sacred and separate from the everyday, and turns the object into a Spirit Vessel. (Add'l details below)

Dedicate the vessel: Perform any charm or ritual in your practice which functions to formally gift-give an object to a god or a spirit.

Sometimes, a consecration and a dedication are done in the same ritual, especially when a god is concerned. E.g., "Witchfather, by your name this wand is made holy (consecration). I give this wand to you; it is yours, and when I use it, your hand guides it (dedication)."

The most simplest format of this is something like, "by [the powers I believe allow me to make thing sacred], I make this object sacred [and perhaps I sprinkle some saltwater or whatever formula I believe is necessary to help me make things sacred]. This object is now the vessel for a spirit. Now, it is a Spirit Vessel."

The above being the idea of a consecration; the dedication then being something like,

"[Spirit Name], I invite you into my world and my life. I give you Permission to dwell in this Spirit Vessel and make it your body and your home. I give you Permission to walk in this world through the conduit of this Spirit Vessel. It belongs to you, it is you."

(The above dedication perhaps also revealing something about why "telephone lines" may be a safer bet, the dedication for those being something like, "[Spirit Name], I invite you to observe this vessel and place your fingerprint upon it, so that when I work over it I call out to you, and you can hear me easily no matter how far apart we are.")

Anyway, put some real thought into exactly how much you want this spirit to manifest in your life, because spirit experiences - even when desired and invited - can be very intense and scary, especially if up to that point your experiences with spirits has been limited.

Invite the spirit into the vessel: If not included in your dedication, also formally invite the spirit.

"[Spirit Name], I've prepared this special Vessel for you, and given it to you. I have prepared the way with earthly and aethereal energies, so you may be well-fed and have the power to move within our world. [That's the offering bit innit]. Come now at this time and here in this place, and claim this Vessel as your own."

Etc., something like that.

At this time, the ritual is over with and you can commune with the spirit as desired or close the ritual down in your normal techniques.

Again, if there is an additional/old spirit vessel you no longer want to use, try talking with the spirit about what to do with it; but you can just let it "run dry" and then carefully undo the magic on it. After that, do with it as you please.

[hardly-an-escape]

Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. ��Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

[therealslimshakespeare]

i hope u know u have destroyed me w ur description of major cleven back there and i expect every detail of major egan’s as well now

P.S CLEVEN SO IS A SPLUTTER

Long love our gushing little eager sprinkler Cleven!

Now, on to Major John Egan who will definitely blush up to his ears regarding what I shall relay over the covers of this our sleepover, but who will nonetheless be tuned in with unabashed curiosity to hear what we make of him and to catch -he dearly hopes- some word of admiration and applause for his pleasing proportions…

Cock-versations: John “Bucky” Egan edition

nsfw (AF!) under the cut:

So we’ve talked about Gale Cleven and his ken doll perfect silicon-esque, beauty pageant pretty cock, how it’s shaped and sized as if to be a dildo, as immaculate as that face he possesses, feels a little otherworldly to be even dealing with it kinda cock.

But Bucky? Oh that’s no cherub for you, that’s a salt of the earth man.

Where Gale Cleven’s appendage could get passed up in a line up of fakes as another perfect fake, there’s something to be said about a cock so singular, rugged and wonderfully human there’s no doubting it’s a genuine -if utterly shocking- article.

If Gale Cleven is a renaissance pillar, John Egan is a gnarled oak tree.

Hear me out:

For one: The sheer size. Tree-worthy, a mighty oak, a stalwart redwood, a hardened maple. But also, a tad bent, and curving up, partly because all that length must go somewhere. And oh -trust me, there’s length. But there’s also girth. But here’s what’s funny, my sweets, length and girth as we have said but were you to lay this cock next to say, bratwurst or the average petite pubic bone, you might be a little shocked by just how large it is. Because when seen in the wild, seen at liberty, attached to the man himself, it appears deceivingly moderate.

It’s the opposite of Cleven’s slim hips and jutting pillar illusion. Instead, with Bucky you’ve got mighty thighs and a huge torso and broad shoulders that could carry the globe. You would be forgiven for thinking he’s nicely equipped while not rightfully proportioning it to you, to the rest of us mortals.

Taken alone or…into oneself, you suddenly realize you’re riding a telephone pole and…now we are back to the tree imagery again. Huge, bent a bit, a tendency to grow and throb the harder he gets, but most of all -we all know and love that very special vein running along the underside of a dick. But for Egan? That whole vein is an extra ridge, like a three leaf clover cock sorta thing: if you’ve seen one you never forget it, and when I tell you it rubs your stretched little rim to madness with it’s extra ridge, I’m not using hyperbole.

Closing thoughts: less of a bright Barbie pink tip like Cleven’s and more of a constant pretty multi shade of purples, all along, sack and all. shockingly huge balls to go with it, even deeper plummy shade for these. perhaps the hottest and warmest cum blast you’ve ever felt, those swimmers have been sheltered and simmered in between those thighs waiting just for you, after all.

[pejite]

1810s english countryside farmhouse - historically accurate

Still building historic homes! This time it’s an early 1910s English farmhouse.

It belongs to a well-off farming family who own a considerable amount of land. Though the house is old, they've kept it updated with renovations over the years. It has electricity, and they recently installed a telephone.

The house features four bedrooms: a master, a double for guests, one for children, and a nursery. There's a well-equipped kitchen, a spacious bathroom, a large family room with a dining area, and a small parlour for entertaining guests or enjoying afternoon tea.

Lot details

50x40

§207,733

CC included in the download folder.

the interior:

floorplans;

download (FREE on Google Drive)

[aphrogeneias]

it's been seven hours and fifteen days —

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (soulmate!au)

summary: five years ago you'd left your hometown in a hurry, trying to escape a heartbreak you thought was inevitable. now, you find out what's truly inevitable are lengths that fate will go to meet you.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: soulmate!au, angst, unrequited love (or is it?), eddie and reader are childhood friends but they're now in their 20s.

series masterlist

I. PROLOGUE (1991)

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, DECEMBER 1991

"He's here."

Your trembling hands grasp the telephone receiver a little too hard. Staring at the closed door of the back office and hoping that the "staff only" sign is respected, you wait for your friend at the other end of the line to answer after you completely ignored her cheery "Hello!" just seconds earlier.

If you strain your ears a little bit, you can hear the telltale sounds of instruments being dragged around the small stage at the other side of the bar, the voices of the men — both band and crew alike — checking the sound for later that night, distorted feedback echoing from the amps. His voice was the loudest, as it’s always been.

It all feels like a fever dream.

"Who is there?"

"Who have I been running from for the past five years?" You sighed tiredly, as if you'd just ran for miles. You hoped that from your desperate tone that Robin would have picked up on exactly who you were talking about.

"Oh… He's there?" Realization colors her voice. You heard steps on her end, the telephone cord being stretched, and waited with baited breath for her to return. For a moment, you can almost picture her clumsily moving around her small kitchen, trying not to break something in her haste. "He's there?"

The shock you hear in her voice can't be compared to the one you felt when you saw Eddie Munson — freak extraordinaire, professional small town delinquent, guitar wizard and your long lost best friend — walk into the bar you work at, equipment in hand, ready to settle in the stage for a busy Friday night at one of the more inconspicuous bars in Sunset Boulevard.

In all your naivety, you thought you'd never have to see him again. Once you left Hawkins, fresh out of High School and with a determination you only have when you're born in a town that is, in turn, equally determined to spit you out, you thought that was it. Destiny and fate and red strings didn't rule your life, you did.

Destiny was now laughing at your face, pointing at you with an accusing finger like a mother that says "I told you so" to a misbehaving child that has to face the consequences after tempting them for too long.

It looked like he didn't change a thing since you last saw him, from the shaggy brown hair down to the tattered black bandana in his pocket, at least from the quick look you took at him before bolting, which only hurt even more.

"When were you going to tell me he moved here? Didn't you know anything? Didn't Steve know? Dustin must have told him something, it's impossible…"

"Bold of you to assume I listen to every single thing that dingus tells me when he calls me, babe." Robin interrupts your increasingly rapid speech, filled with indignant rage. Her words seem harsh towards your mutual friend, but you know it's said with affection. "And also, I don't know, doesn't fate work in mysterious ways or whatever they used to tell us when we were kids?"

Your communication with your childhood friends was done primarily by phone, ever since you left for Los Angeles and Robin for Indianapolis with her girlfriend-slash-roommate (as far as both of their parents are concerned), Vickie. Steve had stayed behind, begrudgingly managing his dad's business, but you knew it was only a matter of time until he left too.

All of you do, eventually. Even Eddie did, much to your chagrin. It was bittersweet, actually. He'd achieved his lifelong dream of getting out, a dream you both shared, but now you hoped he had chosen somewhere else to run to instead of right into you.

If you weren’t too busy being desperate about your current situation, one you’d been trying to avoid for longer than you thought it was possible, you’d be happy for him. Truly. Once upon a time, it was all you ever wanted. All you could ever talk about. Sitting on his bedroom floor, lying together on your roof, staring at Lover’s Lake — about how you’d get out of there and conquer the world.

You didn’t get to do it together like you planned, like you were meant to, but, then again, life found a way.

"There's nothing mysterious about this, though. Every idiot with a band in this country moves to California sooner or later, it was just a matter of time until they did too."

"May I remind you that he's not just an idiot with a band but actually your soulmate?"

The word soulmate pierces your heart like an arrow anytime you hear it, especially when it's related to yours. It reminds you of a painful conversation, one that was hard to forget.

"Don't say that. You're making it difficult for me." You murmur, closing your eyes for a moment too long. Still staring at the door, scared of someone walking in catching you hanging on to the receiver for dear life, unshed tears glistening in your eyes.

"I'm just saying, and I know I've said this a million times before, but I don't know how you haven't caved to those doe eyes of his. Soulmate or not, I would have, and I don't even like men. Not even a little bit."

Glimpses of warm brown filled your mind, deep and all-knowing. It was getting harder to breathe in the stuffy backroom, the walls seeming to close in on you.

A rational part of your brain, deep inside, knew that you were likely exaggerating. It wasn't like Eddie meant to hurt you — he couldn't even if he tried, that boy didn't have a mean bone in his body. In your worst moments, you tried to convince yourself that you had hurt yourself. You broke your own heart before he could break it first.

That same rational part of your brain knew it was inevitable. The heartbreak. It was only a matter of time until it all shattered — so, you left. You stopped writing at some point near the six month mark after you moved, he stopped calling a little after that. Life went on.

"You're not being very helpful, you realize that? I nearly had a heart attack when I saw him. They're all here, all of the boys. They're here, at the bar, rehearsing." You told her. "When Linda said they had hired a new band I expected something like them but not them, literally." Recounting what happened a few minutes before, you left out the part where you may or may not have crouched behind the bar counter to avoid being seen by your former classmates.

The Deuce was your safe place, and that was a lot to say about a bar that housed a little under a hundred rowdy rock fans almost every night and had seen its fair share of fights and public indecency charges in the time you worked there, but you liked it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was one of those places where everything felt possible and every night was different, or with the woman who took you under her wing and made you feel at home in the most chaotic moment of your life.

You trusted Linda, but not enough to tell her about your “one who got away”. Even if you did tell her about what led you here, the real reason you were miles away from home, you don’t think it would have made a difference in this particular moment. You had a feeling no one could put a stop to the red string that was, little by little, shortening the distance between you and the one who’s always held the other side of it.

It frightened you to no end.

"You should just talk to him. Rip that band-aid off. What are you going to do? Leave your job?"

After a beat of silence on your end, Robin continued, and the soft kindness in her voice was enough to finish breaking you. You wish you could hold her through the line. "You can't keep running forever."

Was it stupid that you thought you could?

Your heart beat fast under the tight black shirt you used to work that day, and unconsciously, your hand reached for the necklace under it. An old red guitar pick sat there, right under your collarbone, held between your fingers.

The only thing of his you couldn't keep in that damn box.

[misteria247]

1981, Fateful Encounter:

"You sure you'll be okay on your own, Fidds? I can stay behind-"

Stanley had begun to say only for Fiddleford to stop him in his tracks.

"Oh no, none of that now. I'm perfectly able to stay behind at the shack myself. Besides I don't think it's wise to leave Stanferd alone."

The inventor said his voice going quiet towards the end as he shot a look towards said man. Stanley flinched a bit, his own gaze settling onto his twin. Ford looked exhausted, with bags under his eyes and a far away look in them. His entire frame seemed to be taunt, like an arrow waiting to be released at even the slightest hint of a threat. Ever since that damn phone call, Ford hadn't been himself. And it scared the other two men, who couldn't figure out a way to help him. It was one of the reasons why at this moment the twins were going to go out and do an information collection for the broadcast. An attempt to distract Ford from whatever was plaguing him. Noticing the torn look Fidds grabbed Stanley's hand. Holding it gently in his own to try and comfort him. Enjoying the feeling of the warmth and callouses that covered them.

"I really will be fine Stanley. Honest. Now, go on and get you and your brother some fresh air. I'll get this place straightened up."

Fiddleford said his voice soft. Stanley's brown eyes softened, meeting greenish hazel and he gave a small smile.

"Alright Fiddlenerd. I trust ya. Just be careful okay?"

The larger man said, gaze searching. Fidds felt his chest get tight, face and heart warm with a feeling he couldn't put a name too. Before nodding in reassurance. With the promise to stay safe, Stanley finally let go of Fidds hands and made his way to Ford and the two set off out into the Gravity Falls forest. Fiddleford watched them go, already feeling a bit colder since Stan had let go of his hands. Once they were out of sight, the hillbilly genius got to work, restocking things and sorting papers. Checking equipment and fixing what was broken. He did this for a while, humming a small tune beneath his breath as he did so. Trying not to think about his friend's deteriorating state of mind. It was as he was putting the finishing touches on one of his projects that he had heard it.

The landline going off.

The sound of its shrill ringing broke the comfortable silence. Immediately making the man cautious. With a brief moment of hesitation, Fidds made his way over to the telephone and picked it up.

"Hello? This is the Mystery Podcast Trio station, how can I help you?"

Fiddleford asked, polite and business like with a bit of southern twang. Silence answered him, the brief sounds of static coming in and out.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

The inventor tried again, a growing sense of unease settling over him. He was about ready to hang up the phone when he heard it. Staticy muttering, too fast for him to make out but it made his skin crawl. After what felt like an eternity of it he finally heard a voice. A voice that made his stomach drop.

"Specs, wasn't expecting you! But I guess that makes this whole thing easier! Tell me......do you believe what your eyes show you?"

The voice, static and cheerful said. The Mystery Caller waited for a response while Fiddleford tried not to swallow his tongue in fear. The staticy white noise drilled its way into his eardrums and recalling what had happened to Stanford he tore the phone away from his ear. Only to his horror come to find that he could still hear the voice, loud and clear in his ears.

"Cuz I think you should. After all, the eyes never lie......"

The Mystery Caller said, his voice dripping with fake cheer. Fidds could barely concentrate, it was just so loud in the cabin all of a sudden. And it was then, he heard it through the static and ringing.

The sound of one of the bathroom doors opening.

Fiddleford froze, his heart pounding in time with the static. Turning slowly towards the direction of the bathroom, the genius barely kept back the scream of terror as he came to face.....

When Stanley and Ford returned to their home, they were greeted by a horrifying scene. The cabin was a wreck. Papers and books tossed and thrown around the room. Furniture overturned as if there had been a struggle. And in the middle of the carnage was Fiddleford. Staring wide eyed at the ceiling, his eyes bleeding and unseeing despite being still in tact. Stanley rushed forward, a cry of horror escaping him. Ford just stood there, dread and terror settling deep into his bones. Stanley grabbed Fidds shoulders, gently shaking him to try and snap him out of it. It was a moment before the country man did. And when he did he completely freaked out. Like a terrified animal he scrambled backwards, clutching his hair and yanking it as he went into hysterics.

"THE BEAST-! BEWARE OF THE BEAST WITH ONE EYE-!"

Fiddleford screeched, eyes scanning the room in terror as he trembled violently. Stanley froze, unknowing on how to help him other than to try and calm him down so he could get medical help for his eyes. Stanford however went rigid.

'Beware the beast. The beast with one eye.'

'I'll make you regret it IQ....'

[dbpequipment]

Avaya ip phone

Businesses can get convergent and cutting-edge solutions from Avaya IP phone systems that elevate even the most profound experiences. It offers a business contact center, networking, video collaboration, and unified communications services. Every company may create a life that is as seamless and connected as possible, thanks to its incredible characteristics.

It modernizes communications for the next generation of engagement and establishes secure, intelligent connections between businesses and their customers. All sizes of enterprises can benefit from Avaya phones' transformative potential in digital communication software, services, and equipment.

[scavengedluxury]

Telephone switching equipment in New Orleans, circa 1941.

(Louisiana Digital Library)

[oneshotnewbie]

Carina&Maya x daughter

Daughter is old enough to go do things on her own or with a few friends like go to the movies or a restaurant. All she has to do is tell her mom’s where she’s going. Daughter is informed about a little get together at a friends house after going out for dinner, daughter told Maya and Carina she was going out for dinner but not the “after party.” Daughter knows she wouldn’t be allowed to go because it was at a house her moms were unfamiliar with.

Daughter ends up going to the party and tells herself she will only be another hour or so, but time slips away. The party is held in the basement so cell service is pretty much zero.

The party has drinking but daughter know better than to take it. However daughter has a severe allergy to peanuts. There was a table full of snacks and miscellaneous things, nothing was labeled. Everyone was having a good time and daughter wasn’t thinking about anything, she was eating a cookie that was on a platter on the table and she really enjoyed it. The person who brought them said to her “oh yeah those are my mom’s famous cookies” about 5 mins later daughter started to feel really warm and her face was becoming very red and patchy. She collapsed. Her one friend asked what was in the cookies and sure enough they were peanut butter cookies. All of the underage teens were freaking out while someone called 911

Carina was working but Maya had the day off. Andy and Victoria arrived to the house with the aid car. They got to the basement and realized it was (daughter) and acted fast and took her to the hospital. Once settled in the hospital Andy got ahold of her moms to tell them.

So sorry this is long! Thoughts? I know a peanut allergy is cliché but I didn’t want the daughter to drink knowing she can’t go behind her mom’s backs like that. It was just a bunch of preteens thinking they were cool cause they stole a few drinks from their parents cabinets (I’m thinking parents aren’t home) anywhooo I hope this is okay :)) -🦋

ᕚ---ᕘ

Maya Bishop and Carina Deluca were preparing for their upcoming shift at Station 19 that afternoon. The sounds of running engines and the occasional ringing of the duty telephone filled the air as the blonde checked the equipment. Carina, meanwhile, counted the supplies so that the aid car team could make the best possible care of an injury before she made her way back to Grey Sloan.

The two of them were completely absorbed in their work and did not notice a person, a young girl, walking through the open gates, a bright smile and lively eyes betraying anticipation. "Hey, mom, hey mama." You greeted your mothers cheerfully and they both turned around in shock, but returned the smile when they noticed that it was none other than you.

"Hey my sweet. What brings you here?" Maya asked, now completely turning away from her work and giving you your full attention.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm going out to dinner with some friends at a restaurant tonight," you explained excitedly, pushing yourself into her outstretched arms. "It's nothing special, just a casual meeting."

Maya and Carina exchanged a look and couldn't suppress their smiles when they heard the news. "That sounds great, y/n. Thanks for coming over and letting us know. Which restaurant are you going to?"

You thought for a moment, briefly checking your phone to tell them the real name of the restaurant. "We decided on a restaurant named 'La Trattoria'. It's not far from here and apparently has great pasta. Y/bf/n drives us there and she also takes me home afterwards."

"That sounds like a good choice, bella," Carina agreed, giving you a small kiss on the cheek as a late greeting and early goodbye. "Have fun and take care. Don't forget to let us know when you're home safely."

"Of course, mama. I'll watch the clock and send you a text. See you later!" you nodded to them as you waved goodbye and left the fire station. A contented sigh escaped the brunette as she watched you go. "Our daughter is growing up, isn't she?"

Maya nodded to her and crossed the last few centimeters that separated her from her wife. Her arms wrapped tightly around her middle from behind while her head rested on her shoulder. "Yes, she's getting older and more independent. But as long as she always informs us where she's going, everything will be fine," she murmured, her gaze shifting towards the open gates where you had recently disappeared entirely.

Meanwhile, your best friend intercepted you on a corner near the fire station and took you with her. You entered the cozy Italian restaurant 'La Trattoria' and were greeted by the tempting smell of pasta and pizza. You both looked around for your other friends and found them already sitting at a table near the window, waiting for you. With a smile you both walked over and sat down.

As you ate together in a cozy atmosphere, the conversation was lively and funny, and you felt comfortable in the company of your closest friends when suddenly one of your friends' cell phone rang. He immediately pulled it out of his pocket and saw a message from one of her friends sending him the address to a party.

"Hey, did you also get the chain message from the party?" he whispered excitedly, placing his open phone on the table to show everyone the online flyer he had received. You raised your eyes and listened intently, not focusing on the phone. "What party do you mean? Where is it?"

Your friend grinned widely. "A huge house party at Jason's, the guy a grade above us. Everyone's talking about it. It's supposed to be legendary!"

You felt a tightening in your stomach and your heart began to beat faster. A party sounded tempting, but you also knew that your mothers had only allowed you to go out to eat with your friends. The idea of telling them you wanted to go to a party afterwards made you feel uneasy.

"When is the party?" You asked uncertainly, taking a sip of your cool drink, not knowing if you should go. "It's supposed to start at 9 p.m. That's still two hours away. Are you in?"

You hesitated for a moment, torn. Should you go? Your mind raced as you weighed the consequences. On one hand, you knew that it would be a violation of your mothers' trust if you just went to a party without telling them. On the other hand, you also knew that you probably wouldn't get permission to go there if you asked.

"What's up, are you okay?" your best friend asked, noticing your hesitation. You bit your lip, unsure of what to do. "It's nothing, I'm in."

Your friends cheered and immediately started making plans for the party as they got back to their food. You tried to suppress your rising doubts. It was just a party for 9th and 10th graders and you were only going to stop by for an hour anyway. What could possibly go wrong?

When it came time to leave for the party, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. You had decided not to say anything to Maya and Carina and you really hoped that everything would go well.

On the way to the party, you tried to get excited about the night ahead, but a small part of your conscience nagged at you. You knew you should be honest with your mothers, but in that moment you couldn't ignore the urge for freedom and adventure.

Several minutes later and a sigh of inner conflict, you entered the basement to the party and immersed yourself in the vibrant atmosphere of the night. The music was ringing in your ears and people were happily dancing together, immediately feeling alive. You glanced at the clock and repeatedly promised yourself that you would only stay for an hour.

But time flew by. The music, the laughter and the excitement of the people around you captivated you. Hours passed and you found yourself getting deeper into the party. But at some point you noticed that your cell phone had no reception when you wanted to look at the clock. Panic rose in you as you realized that you couldn't tell your parents that you were going to be away longer than planned. But the thought was quickly overshadowed by the party atmosphere and you decided not to worry. It would be fine.

As the night progressed, the celebrations became wilder. Drinks were passed around with a stronger percentage and you were asked to join in more often. But you knew you couldn't go too far. Despite the fun you had, you kept a clear head and stayed away from alcohol. Instead, you decided to indulge in the delicious snacks that lay in the corner of the room.

The table was covered with a variety of goodies: chips, candy, cookies and other tempting things. You smiled as you approached and began exploring the different options. You grabbed a small plate and began placing a selection of the snacks on it.

As you looked further around the table, you noticed a platter of particularly tempting looking cookies. They were perfectly formed and looked incredibly delicious. You couldn't resist and reached for one of the cookies.

You took a bite, closing your eyes in pleasure as the taste unfolded on your tongue. It was incredible - the perfect mix of sweet, soft and crunchy. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh as you enjoyed another cookie.

Suddenly you heard an unfamiliar voice, that came closer to you. "Oh, there's someone enjoying my mother's famous cookies," she spoke and you quickly opened your eyes, looking up at the older girl. “Your mom makes really amazing cookies,” you remarked, nodding and reaching for another one.

The party continued to rage around you, but for a moment you were just lost in the delicious world. You savored every bite while chatting with your friends and living life to the fullest. But after a few minutes you started to feel uncomfortable. Your skin began to tingle and you felt heat flood your body.

Panic rose within you as you realized what was happening. You had an allergic reaction. Your thoughts were swirling and you tried to stay calm, but the symptoms were getting worse by the second. Your best friend immediately noticed the change in your face and became increasingly nervous as your face became red and blotchy. "Are you all right?" She asked worriedly and you tried to answer but your voice failed and you could only shake your head helplessly. Soon after, everything around you started spinning and you fell tot he ground.

When your friend realized the danger, she pulled out her cell phone and immediately called 911. "911, what is your emergency?" asked the voice on the other end of the line. "My friend has a peanut allergy and she just ate peanut butter cookies. She has an allergic reaction and it is gonna turn into a allergic shock."

Meanwhile, the other party guests reacted to the emerging panic and some of them tried to calm you down. Some of them tried to help with first aid while others stood around you worried.

Meanwhile, Andy and Victoria, who heard about the emergency call, rushed to the house to help. When they arrived, the scene was chaotic, but they immediately put their medical training to use. But when they saw who needed their help, they realized the urgency of the situation.

“Andy, it’s y/n!” Victoria said, lowering herself to the floor next to you. She made sure you were stabilized and acted quickly and effectively while Andy coordinated the situation and asked the young people to give them some space. "Y/n? Our y/n? Damn it!"

Victoria gave you a makeshift supply of adrenaline that she injected into your thigh. "Hey, sweetie. Are you with me?" Andy asked, patting your cheek a few times as she knelt down next to you. You nodded, your eyes focused on her. A smile of relief graced her lips.

Together they carefully picked you up and carried you to their ambulance, which was already waiting outside. They put you on the stretcher and immediately took you to the hospital. Along the way, Victoria kept a careful eye on you while making sure your vital signs remained stable. The ride was eerily quiet as they hoped for your speedy recovery.

When you arrived at the hospital, you were immediately taken to the emergency room, where a team of doctors and nurses were ready to help you. Andy and Victoria stayed by your side while you were examined and treated by the doctors.

At the same time, your mothers were immediately informed by the two and it didn't take long for the two to arrive in the emergency room after receiving the call. Carina stormed towards the two women with concern, her heart beating wildly with worry. Her eyes were wide open in fear as she looked into the treatment room to see you lying on the gurney, surrounded by medical staff. "What the hell happened?" She asked as she wrapped her hands around her torso and chewed her lip nervously.

Maya followed shortly after, her expression marked with worry and fear. When she saw you, she was relieved that you seemed stable so far, but also angry that you hadn't informed her where you were. "Allergic shock. Apparently she ate something she shouldn't have. The caller said it was peanut butter cookies."

"Yeah, yeah. She's allergic to peanuts," the blonde spoke and both women grabbed each other's hands as they nervously waited for the doctors to finish with you and give them an update. "But she knows that too. She pays very strict attention to avoid exactly that."

As the four of them waited in silence, the attending physician came out and explained to Maya and Carina that you were stable, but that you needed to remain under observation due to the severe allergic reaction and that they would do everything they could to make sure you recovered quickly .

Maya and Carina breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed past him with a thank you to get to you as quickly as possible while Andy and Vic stayed outside. "What happened and why didn't you tell us you went to that party?" Maya asked, her voice full of worry and anger.

You lowered your gaze to the blanket, a feeling of shame overcoming you as the two sank into the chairs next to your hospital bed. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to worry you. There were cookies there, unlabeled. It was stupid of me not to say where I was."

Carina sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder. Despite the fury of betraying their trust, they were grateful that you were now in good hands and that you had been taken to the hospital in time. "We're not mad at you, love. But you should have told us where you were going. What would have happened if y/bf/n hadn't called or Andy and Vic hadn't been there on time?"

Maya nodded, agreeing with her wife as she took your hands in hers. "You could have been in serious trouble. We understand that you wanted to have fun, but safety always comes first. We are here to look after you, but we can only do that if you let us know."

You looked at the two of them as their mothers' words resonated within you. You knew you had made a mistake and you would learn from it. "I'm really sorry, Mom. I promise next time I'll let you know right away."

Maya and Carina hugged you tightly as they discussed the importance of communication and safety with you. Despite the frightening experience, you had grown even closer to your mothers, and you were determined to make sure something like this would never happen again.

[flippinpancakes64]

Hello, I just want to know if I can request the Cullens to have an S/o that is in a band like sick puppies or skillet, please, and thank you

Also, I love your work

The Cullens with a reader who's in a Rock Band

Hello! Thank you for requesting!

I am someone who's into alternative music but I've never heard of these two bands. So I did my best to listen to some of their songs to get a feel for what kind of band you were talking about. They both reminded me a lot of Three Days Grace, Seether, Godsmack, and other bands like that so I based it off of that too.

In short, I basically went the route of a 90s-00s rock band

I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He's not the biggest fan

Not of you being in the band, but of the music

He's not really into all the screaming

Even though it's not all screaming lol

He is pretty old fashioned

But overall he'd be an enjoyer

He would be at all of your concerts watching from the front row

He will proudly tell anyone that asks that he is your boyfriend and that you two are very much in love

And if you guys ever wanted to write a slower, ballad-type piece he is so down to compose and play the piano part for it

Also you guys don't need to worry about money

If one of your guitar strings breaks he's sending you 1,000 dollars and telling you to keep the change

He's also a good personal bodyguard

No need to worry about rowdy fans when he's there

He supports all of your dreams

He just doesn't listen to the music in his free time

Sorry

Alice:

She is SO into it

I feel like she doesn't care about genres or anything like that

If she likes a song she likes it

And when you tell her about your band and show her one of your songs, she is in love

You don't need to hire a merch designer or a hair/makeup artist ever

She's on it

She loves helping you choose an outfit and doing your hair and makeup before you go on stage

And it does stroke her ego just a little bit when people post on Twitter about your outfits :)

She's also definitely the type to print out like a hundred posters and staple them to all of the telephone poles in like the whole state

Also always at every concert

Except she's backstage

She prefers to be close

Stands to the side the whole time holding a bottle of water for you whenever you need it

She definitely has a shirt with your face on it that says #1 fan

She doesn't wear it but she does have it

Jasper:

He's also a little confused by the music

I don't know why but I literally cannot imagine this man listening to music ever

So he doesn't really have a favorite type

But he loves your voice so obviously he loves your music

He doesn't trust himself to be in the crowd at your concerts

So he's always backstage too

Even though it's loud, if you even whisper under your breath that you're thirsty he is there with a bottle of water

For some reason I get the feeling he would be good at audio design tho

This guy can make fire edits to a song

Your bandmates love him tho because he moves all of the heavy equipment

He likes to be in the studio when you're recording

Quality time

And he can be perfectly silent so he never interferes with the sound equipment

Rosalie:

I feel like she'd shock you with the fact that she LOVES alt music

She's so angsty

It perfectly displays her emotions

The screaming is cathartic to her

So when she hears that you're in a band and you make the exact type of music that she loves, she is so excited

She wants to be involved in everything

She would love designing your outfits

And I feel like she would be a good songwriter

She is in the crowd every time

Directly in the center

Directly in the front

One time, when one of your concerts was coming up, she printed out hundreds of flyers and went around the school telling people to show up

Not asking

Telling

The show was packed

Emmett:

I think he would love it purely for aesthetic reasons

Not to say that he doesn't like that you're happy and doing what you love

But I think he would feel so cool with a badass rockstar S/O

Like when he looks up at you on stage he just gets so much pride

Like hell yeah everybody came here to see MY S/O

Also he is your personal bodyguard

He would have so much fun kicking people out of shows

He puts on the sunglasses, the high vis vest, everything

Obviously he is in the crowd every time

But that's because he's the guard

He would proudly wear a shirt with your face on it btw

And no he won't get rid of it

No matter how many times you ask

Esme:

She's another one who's not really into the music part

I get the feeling she would like jazz/classical music more

She just gives me calm energy

So she wouldn't really like your music sorry

But that doesn't mean she won't support you

She is at every concert

Backstage

And she helps you with anything else you may need

She is shockingly good at filming music videos

She also likes to take action shots while you're performing

And then she makes a scrapbook out of it <3

Carlisle:

This man is older than electricity

He's watched the evolution of all music genres

And he is familiar with all of them

He's sort of like Alice in that he likes songs from all genres

He is completely supportive, though

Gives you all the money you could ask for

And then some

He talks about you to his patients all of the time

"Oh you broke your arm at a music festival? My S/O is in a band, you should check them out sometime."

The nurses get a bit annoyed

The only downside is that, because he works so much at the clinic, he can't help that much

He does his best to be at every one of your concerts

But he can't make all of them

When he does show up though he is front and center

Vampire! Bella:

Stephenie Meyer confirmed that Bella listens to Linkin Park

So yes she totally loves your band

I can imagine her in the mosh pit

She'd love it

She would stay far away from the stage though

Like she does not want to be perceived by the public

She helps doing other stuff though

I feel like Edward probably taught her how to play guitar at some point

So if you're ever stumped on a riff or something she jumps in to help

Obvs she's at every concert too

[commandertartarsmoocher]

Agent 8 had enough.

The Telephone has been equipped!

[Offense went up by 888!]

[Range went up by 80!]

[Speed went down by 8!]