#1950s memorabilia

[mashaly1986]

1950s Girls Scout Lot Beret Cap and Sash with Patches *

The 1950s Girl Scout Lot featuring a beret cap and sash with patches is a nostalgic and collectible set from the mid-20th century, representing the iconic Girl Scout uniform of the era. The green beret cap is a signature accessory, worn as part of the official Girl Scout attire, and reflects the traditional style of the time. The accompanying sash is adorned with various earned merit patches, each symbolizing achievements, skills, and activities completed by the Girl Scout. These patches provide a glimpse into the past, showcasing the accomplishments and values of scouting in the 1950s. This vintage set is a wonderful piece of Girl Scout history, perfect for collectors or those with an appreciation for scouting memorabilia.

[monkeyssalad-blog]

1958 Detective Cases Magazine - Marilyn Monroe Cover by Vinnie DeVille Via Flickr: Vintage issue of Detective Cases with a great image of Marilyn Monroe on the cover - not that she has anything to do with any of the stories inside the magazine. Considering there were almost 200 detective titles being published around this time, Marilyn is merely on the cover to “bait” a prospective buyer. The complete crime magazine - indeed. It’s always a thrill when it’s from Vinnie DeVille!

[theglitterdome]

1950s Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis swag

[seashorepics]

On this day in – film, television, music, and modern culture

On January 25th, several notable events in film, television, music, and modern culture have occurred throughout history: Film and Television: 1949: The inaugural Emmy Awards ceremony took place at the Hollywood Athletic Club, marking the beginning of an annual tradition honoring excellence in the television industry. Wikipedia The Opening of the Academy Awards: 1949 Oscars 1961: President…

[ppcseo]

#eminence #baseballcards #vintage #tradingcards #1950s #baseballcollectibles #cardcollecting #baseballhistory #sportsmemorabilia #baseballnostalgia

[woozymitts]

I finally set up my Laika shrine 🥺

I've been collecting Laika memorabilia for years and I always wanted to make a nice little shrine to display all of it, and now I finally did! I got the poster a while ago and the Laika pin I preordered came a month or so ago (my memory is so bad lmao) but I had to make a shelf and stain it and then find brackets so I didn't set it up until now.

Here's all the stuff I've collected so far:

The poster, designed by @dappermouth.

An antique candy tin that had vanilla tahini halva in it, from the 1960s

An antique pin, unsure of year

A pin designed by @pangur-and-grim. I only wanted to have antique stuff in my shrine (except for the poster) but when I saw Greer open preorders for that pin I knew I would regret it if I didn't get one lmao.

Antique Mongolian stamps, unsure of year (the date on them is the day Laika went into space)

Antique post card, from the 1950s or 60s?

Antique matchbox cover, from the 1950s?

[dabratzchronicles]

You Don’t Know My Name

Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond

You as Yourself

Summary: Today was the start of your day which already wasnt worth a lick of shit, but what if someone changes that?

A/N i gave the nigga a full name, yall gone see, but SURPISEEE! @megamindsecretlair you clocked me and it is Mr Terry that was in the coming soon, hope you enjoyed yet another cameo in this series and i hope you like it!♥️ also @violetmuses ik i gave you this idea, but i stole it back and i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: Nothing, just pure cuteness and family time.

For Boosted Experience, Heres the Official Soundtrack. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2K7IeGXgQq7K16YP1Jb7yN?si=UCA3v7yZQieKWNRrBg0wdA&pi=u-4AXbUCgzR42u

Your eyes fluttered open at the annoyance of your alarm clock blaring in your ear, you looked over to see it was 7:45, 45 minutes past your time to get ready for work.

Over today already, you slammed your hand onto the clock, not giving a damn if the thing broke or not. You looked outside to see the sun’s beautiful attempt to wake the people of Earth, the vibrancy of the colors making you jealous that you have to work at 9:30 but choose to get up to prep for it.

You glanced in the mirror and almost gave yourself seven years of bad luck, The one time you take your braids out is the day you decide to get five more minutes of sleep, Luckily, you washed and blow-dried it the night before, so it shouldn’t give you a hassle, but your hair never agrees.

You turned off the alarm clock before the snooze timer exploded your eardrums, grabbing your phone to put on your get-ready-for-work playlist.

Summer by Kenya Vaun blasted through your pink headphones, enjoying the outside before heading to work which would take the whole song, but it was just a nice way to start today.

The vibrant colors scrambled away as the blues paraded throughout the sky, the clouds playing tag and creating little symbols and animals, you could stand still and watch the sky all day and not get bored, even the heart-shaped cloud winking down at you.

You approached your job with a fake smile, Westside Diner! Home of one of the best coney dogs in your opinion, the 1950’s 1950-inspired diner was filled with memorabilia from the past and fifties like decor, you admired how much time and effort was put into making the wonderful restaurant if only there was one for us black people.

You scurried across the street, smelling the breakfast scents that lingered out into the air and slapping you dead in your negro nostrils, envy filled your body towards the people who were enjoying themselves at this establishment.

Pushing open the door, the door suddenly became lighter, shooting your hands forward as you braced your fall, an arm flung around to catch you, a small ‘oof!’ flew from your mouth.

‘Please get off me, I’m finna clock out’ You said calmly in your head, closing your eyes to not see if there were any witnesses.

Your despair was vocal enough that a deep chuckle shook you straight, “No one saw it,” he said, low enough to be quiet as a church mouse. You turned around to see if the voice matched the face and whew!

This fine… Heaven sent of a man completely towering over you, he sported a brown sweater with khakis with black dress shoes with a gold buckle on the side, gold gracefully complementing his skin tone, and not too much gold to wear it drowns the color from his eyes, good lord his eyes! as ethereal as the sky.

“Alrighty buttercup,” you snapped your head around to see Ms. Olaynika, the manager and your third mother you have collected like a Pokemon. She snapped her fingers and hurried you, “It’s 8:54, Times’a ticking and food is ready to go in stomachs!” she finished before going back to her table like she didn’t just rush you, the professionality, you loved it.

“Thank you, hope you enjoy your day.” You thanked the man before scraming away from him.

“So you mean to tell me,” Your best friend Nicole stood there with a face with her arms crossed with her eyebrows scrunched up and away like her braids, “You had this fine ass man who saved you from embarrassment, held you for a long time, and had nice eyes?”

You smiled while rolling your eyes, “I just know that isn't what all you got from that.”

“No!” She tilted her head to the side as her voice went up an octave higher than normal, “I’m just saying I don't know how you standing right here talking to me instead of going downtown.”

“I wish, but I need a ‘you deserve it’ weekend, I’m tired of being cooped in the house.” you sighed walking up to the counter with Nicole trailing you. “I can’t have Mr. Bigshot to distract me.”

“You know that’s a damn lie,” she told you in a sing-songy voice, “You gone think about him all day and that's ok! You deserve that along with your ‘you deserve it weekend’.”

She was right, but you couldn’t let her know that she wouldn’t let you hear the end of it even after your shift. You checked the notebook to see whose section was where and when the time switch was. “And how do you know he finna be on my mind?” You asked without looking up from the notebook.

“Because he is currently, at your section, Have fun!”

You finally looked up from the scribbled on paper to see that he really was in your section, his glasses placed on the tip of his nose, his gaze fixated on the book, and he had a good pick! White Smoke by Tiffany D. Jackson, Your smile flipped inwards as you admired his taste in books.

You straighten your posture, checking if your shirt was ok and decent for the eyes to absorb. You pranced towards his booth with a smile on your face, clicking your pen to hide the fact that you were absolutely scared to talk to this man without your stuttering sneaking through the flaps of your mouth.

You stated your name with a smile and snuck glances at his book. He was at the part where Marigold was sneaking around her mom and her stepdad to make her very own weed farm, but it was destroyed by something or someone? Who the fuck knows, you never got to finish, maybe you can go to the library soon to catch up on it.

“Passionate reader huh?” He asked, noticing your desperate attempts to read along with him. You hid your smile behind your notepad, “You caught me, That is my favorite author, even though I only finished one book.”

“Really?” His eyebrows were hunched, sticking a napkin in place of a bookmark. “Yes! The book was called ‘Grown’. It was such a lovely book and-” You started to ramble about the book but you’ve realized, you don’t get paid for sharing interests, you get paid for working.

“What would you like?”

“Oh, you can’t do that to me.” he covered his heart as if he was just insulted, “You can’t leave me like that, I wanted to hear about this book.”

“Maybe if we meet again, I do look better outside my work clothes,” you joked and he laughed, your toes spazzing out inside your black Nike huaraches, He laughed! And he had a nice one, a very cute one along with his ear-to-ear smile.

“Coffee, Please, and whatever food you think I would enjoy.”

“Ooooook.” You jotted down his order, “And how would you like your coffee?”

“Sweet, Like you.” he winked.

“Give me 5 minutes and I’ll be back with your coffee.”

It’s been 20 minutes since you last gave Mystery Man his meal. Since he let you be the judge of what he ate, you gave him one of your favorites at this diner! The Western Omelette with crispy hash browns on the side with a smiley face in ketchup. While waiting at other tables, you observed him nervously, scared that he might not like your selection of breakfast foods, that you put too much sugar and whipped cream in his coffee, which you also made a smiley face on as well, he had you anxious and you didn’t like it, he was a cute stranger after all.

After a while you sucked it up, shaking your jitters away as you walked up to his booth. “Everything alright with your order?”

“Mm!” He signaled you to wait for a little minute as he took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he gently set the mug down, “I loved it, the hash browns may be my new favorite here.”

You felt relieved, your muscles that you didn’t even know were tensed eased, “I’m glad I can make your morning better! Would you like anything else?”

“Uh, A To-Go Box and a Fruit Punch To-Go please.” He smiled, grabbing a napkin to dab the sides of his mouth.

“I can start on the fruit punch and if you want, you can follow me to ring out your order.”

“No need,” he said, digging into his pocket and handing you his black card. This nigga is fancy.

You looked at the card almost dumbfounded. You never really saw a black card, only heard about it from Fabolous and movies and shit, but never seen it in person.

You carefully grabbed his card from his hands, “I’ll be back.”

You walked away and checked on your other table that wanted your attention before him. Making sure everyone was ok with their needs met, you walked to the cash register, punching in his food and coffee, sneaking a peek at the name on the card, Terrance Richmond. A sophisticated name for a sophisticated man, a wonderful sight to see.

You slid the card with the receipt into your waist apron as you asked one of your co-workers to ring in a new customer while you started on his fruit punch with light ice. The fruit punch here was delicious and it didn’t need to be watered down with hella ice.

Swiftly grabbing a To-Go box on your way out, you happily waddled towards Terry’s table. “Your Box, Punch and,” You dragged your last word as you pulled out his card and receipt out the apron, “Card, Mr. Richmond.”

“Oh! I see you snuck a peek for my name, it's only right I know your full one.” he teased you as he examined the paper.

“I don’t get paid for that, I get paid to service you.” you teased back as you can only hope you get to do that for free.

You gave him your pen and pointed to the line below the total, “Since you did pay with card, You need to sign here, for fraud protection purposes. While you do that, I shall be back with your copy.”

He silently thanked you, his smile growing wider and more innocent. You looked around and made eye contact with Nicole, making matching faces as you two met at the counter.

“Sooooo,” she started, “How’s Tall, Black, and Lightskin?” she asked as you covered your mouth, silently howling in the semi-busy environment around you two. “He has a name, it’s Terrance.”

“I’m not calling him that long ass name!” she huffed as she rang in her customer's order, “That nigga name will be Mr. Pretty Eyes.”

“Terrance too long of a name but Mr. Pretty Eyes is just right? Kinda backwards shit is that Yoda?”

“Care about that shit, I do not!” she perfectly said in Yoda, causing you both to snicker, tapping each other on the shoulder. “Plus must I remind you of that alien ass nigga you had a crush on in 6th-”

“Eugh!” You verbally voiced your displeasure with yourself, his face just flashing into your head. “We don’t speak about that vermin.”

Nicole threw her hands up, taking a pen from the clean cup to scratch her head full of braids. “Aw, Shit. I gave him my pen.” you reminded yourself scooting past her to go to his booth but he was long gone, all that was left was his fruit punch, your pen, and a 50 dollar bill. The writing on the cup said ‘Enjoy Yourself:)’. You looked around for his silhouette, but he was long gone, you smiled at his nice gesture of leaving you a fruit punch.

What a way to start off your morning.

Home, 8 pm,

You closed your eyes as your bed welcomed you back into its arms, the savory smell of chili floating around in your room.

You finished your shift with ease after your little encounter with that man. That’s rude, his name is Terry, Terrance, but permanently Terry. You have got to stop beating yourself up over something small.

But it wasn’t small, everything that flowed off that man was so intoxicating, a mystery in a good book or show that you just want to solve, but not so quickly, you needed some fun in your life.

After your shift, You and Nicole walked to your house to talk for a few and according to her, you were a daydreamer. Every few minutes or so, you would zone out, even her calling you Buttercup didn’t snap you out, and that’s close to an army vet being awoken by ‘At Ease’.

You denied it but you definitely were. You just couldn’t stop thinking about how his reading voice is, Was he gentle? Was he passionate? Would he carefully rub the pages before turning? Does he lick his index to turn it? Many outcomes, Many Possibilities.

A tickling sensation jolted you out of your trance, your eyes zapping to the culprit, which was your grandmother, “I’ve been yelling your name Cupcake!” she sarcastically smiled, waving the clean black spoon around like a mad woman.

“Sorry Mama Moonie,” You bounced to your feet, grabbing your phone off the bed before extending your arms towards her.

“Yeah, Yeah. When we get to this table you gone tell me what boy got my baby acting like she’s Tiana.” she pointed the spoon in your face, giving you an up-down before she walked away leaving you speechless. “Who said it was a boy!”

You trailed behind her as she grabbed two navy blue bowls out of the cabinet, peering at you like you must’ve forgotten who she was.

“Cupcake lemme tell ya,” she started, ready to tell you information you already knew by saying:

“I have been on this earth for 63 long ass years, that's 6 decades’ worth of knowledge compared to the few you have. You don’t think I have had those experiences where a man would have me ina spell! His aura haunts you in a way that makes you paralyzed, the masculinity he possesses within himself, and to not be an asshole in the same breath. I could go all day but you don’t wanna hear about my pussy being wet.”

“MOONIES!” you yelled as she started howling, your body shuddering at the thought of- That! But she is always so blunt in everything she does, you have no choice but to love it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, swatting her laughter away, “But I’m saying, I’ve been there, so you might as well spill that tea before I clock that tea.” she finished, hitting the spoon on the pot before turning around with two full bowls of chili as she headed to the table.

“I have got to get you off of instagram reels,” you said aloud, popping the top on the pot and running water on the spoon before placing it over a towel to dry. turning around to see her shimmy into her way into the dark oak dining chair, her hands await yours.

“Let me grab crackers, I’ll join in a second.” you hurriedly opened the cabinet to grab the open box of ritz crackers, your feet shuffling to the left and the right before shimmying yourself into your seat, setting your crackers next to your bowl as you joined hands with Mama Moonies as you bowed for prayers.

“Lord I thank you for returning us to our safe and humble domain, may the food we are about to eat gives us the nutrients we need and the energy to finish our day strong, Lord I ask you for anything we don’t feel like talking about, to be in your hands, bless us with what we need, rid us of what we don’t. Lord, I also ask you to let our questions that need to be answered, be the answers that keep us sane. In Jesus name, Amen.”

The prayer ended and the tea quickly began to be spilled. You told Mama Moonies about everything, the one thing you loved about dinner time in this house, it was a time of love and happiness to be spilled around, with a lil bit of judgment here and there, but all harmless.

You told her about how the man basically saved you from embarrassment, wanted to know more about you, even made you get your own drink with a tip and a message, even telling her how you hoped he would become a regular. Her face stuck on a smirk as she downed her chilli. “Oh what Mama!” you exclaimed after having enough of her looks and giggles from time to time.

“Seems like you have a crush.”

“That I don’t!” Yes you did.

“You definitely do, and I don’t blame you, because you are either that or delusional, and my baby ain't that bullshit!” Welllllll.

“That man looks nice, is nice and the pockets right, of course I’m not saying you should go for his pockets, that would be wrong. But go for your heart child, open yourself, be free!” Moonies smiled as her arms expanded as big as the galaxy she was imagining, her wrinkled hand resting peacefully on yours, rubbing your knuckles with tender care. “I know you are shy, but it’s time to let it be known that you are here! be known that you deserve love and hey! God will bless you with a man, or that man. And hopefully, he packing.” Moonie's bluntness slipped out at the end, filling the room with belly laughter.

As the laughter died down, so did the food, bellies protruding out of their correct spots. “I’ll clean up, you go take a shower and enjoy your evening.” Moonies pat your hand, swiftly taking your bowl without your knowledge.

“You don’t have to!” You protest but she shot through your sign with a glare that will make a christian do Satan's stare. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I shall see you in da murrning!”

You blew a kiss towards her direction, pushing yourself up as itis started to race with your energy, and your energy was losing, but at least you can spend what you have left daydreaming about Mr. Richmond, something tells you that wasn’t your last time seeing him.

You Got Mail!: @megamindsecretlair @thecapodomme @harmshake @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar @yaachtynoboat711 @miyuhpapayuh @nayaxwrites @planetblaque @darqchilddaydreamz @henneseyhoe @slippinninque

[silhouetteofacedar]

Halves

One of many little moments on a long journey.

AO3

The views along Washington State’s Cascade Loop are breathtaking, according to the brochures from the stand in the lobby of their motel in Chelan. Just past the pseudo-Bavarian enclave that is Leavenworth, Highway 2 hugs the curves of the Wenatchee River through Tumwater Canyon. The scenic byway is tucked between the churning waters and dramatic, towering crags of quartz crested with pines. It’s early spring, and the mountains slowly shake off their winter coats to reveal fresh leaves on the aspens and the first blooms of trillium creeping along the ground. 

Dana Scully sees none of this.

It’s an unfortunate aspect of their work as federal agents; thousands of miles traversed across the continental United States, untold hours spent in anonymous rental vehicles with mysterious odors and pilling upholstery. She knew when she joined the Bureau three years ago that the travel involved would be less than glamorous, but there’s something particularly demoralizing about viewing America the Beautiful solely through a windshield splattered with insect carcasses. 

Scully always falls asleep on long car rides; lulled into slumber by the hum of the engine, the murmur of tires on asphalt, the fact that Mulder sometimes stops talking long enough for her to drop off. She wonders if it’s because his jaw gets tired; in the relatively short time they’ve worked together she’s never known him to run out of things to say.

Her sleep thins on the edges as Mulder wakes her with a soft brush of his knuckle on the tip of her nose. She hears him say they’re still a few hours away from the Seattle field office, but he’s hungry and his long grasshopper legs need a stretch. 

Scully hums in assent, eyelids still heavy as she rearranges herself into a more upright position in the passenger seat. They’ve arrived at one of those proverbial wide spots in the road that bears a “Welcome To” sign, as though that gives it a sense of place when it boasts little more than a gas pump and a convenience store. 

Apparently, this place is called Cole’s Corner, and a hand-painted banner next to a particularly stubborn melting snow berm says there are world-famous milkshakes up ahead. 

Mulder pulls into the gravel parking lot outside what looks like a small house with pink and teal trim. A neon sign advertising banana pancakes hangs in the window.

Scully is hungry and groggy from her nap in the car, her hips and legs stiff from sitting too long.

She gathers her coat around her and slips out of the sedan, the scent of wet pine and moss filling her nose. Droplets of mist bead the shoulders of her coat, clinging to the wool. She can feel her hair creeping into fuzzy curls at the nape of her neck, coaxed into a frizz by the damp Pacific Northwest air. It’s been about a year since they were first in this part of the country together, tearing through waist-high ferns in the dark cedar groves of Bellefleur, hands outstretched. That first case together felt like a rebirth, wherein she shed her old self like her red bathrobe in candlelight in front of her strange new partner. The rich scent of damp earth and rotting logs filled her lungs as she was baptized by the cold Oregon rain, forever changed.

Heavy droplets begin to fall, and she pulls her collar tighter as they ascend the steps to the diner’s front door.

The restaurant is small but warm, every inch of the walls covered in 1950s pop culture memorabilia. A jukebox plays Buddy Holly in the corner; an Elvis-shaped clock swings its pendulum legs in time. Something greasy and heavenly is sizzling in the kitchen, the aroma pulling her in. Scully smiles softly; leave it to Mulder to stumble upon the kitschiest restaurant in the entire state of Washington.

They settle into a small corner booth with sticky grey vinyl seats. They create an odd picture at the table in the midst of hikers in denim and windbreakers; two figures of dramatically different heights draped in layers of dark fabric, heads inclined towards each other with an intimacy that can’t be easily explained. They’ve composed this images together countless times in greasy spoons across the country, travel-weary and disoriented by differing time zones. Sometimes they talk; occasionally they argue. Often they get mistaken for a couple, which irks Scully primarily because she mistakes them for one too. It’s unconscious; Mulder’s warm, firm hand on the small of her back sends messages to her weary brain that her body frequently assigns to the Boyfriend category.

Mulder has that effect on her often. He bursts through barriers, occupying space that had previously only been inhabited by intimate partners. He crams himself into her psyche, poking through neatly filed expectations and burrowing into her soul, creating his own uniquely shaped spot in her being. 

She tries not to think about it; tries not to notice his full lower lip, the charming mole on his right cheek, the way he leans in too close when he talks to her. How he curves over her, his warm voice in her ear. At the office, she feels alert and well-armed against her physical reactions, can easily take her thoughts captive before they get away from her. But when she’s drowsy, far from home, hungry, those base feelings rise faster than she can tamp them back down. He makes her feel small in the best ways and she’s in danger of losing herself in the cover of his wingspan. 

She needs caffeine.

All the waitresses at this establishment have the same name tag; hot pink with the name “Flo” etched into the plastic. A cheery, bespectacled young Flo with blond braids takes their orders, pours cups of too-strong coffee. Scully chooses a BLT, light on the mayo. Mulder orders a grilled cheese sandwich with ham and tomatoes and a cup of chicken and rice soup. 

Scully gazes out the fogging window, slowly warming and wakening in the cozy bustle of the diner. Johnny Cash sings of a ring of fire. Plates clatter in the kitchen, a spoon clinks in a chipped coffee mug. Raindrops fall.

Silence feels more friendly these days, a comfortable pause filling what little space remains between her and Mulder. Words have become only one of the many ways in which they communicate. Their hands carry on their own conversation as the waitress brings their plates; understanding and collaboration in the simple passing of a napkin or nudging the salt across the table.

Mulder picks up a half of his sandwich, toasted a golden brown and cut neatly at a diagonal. “You want a bite?” he asks, holding it out across the speckled formica tabletop, and Scully realizes that it’s the first thing he’s said aloud directly to her since they got out of the car. She hesitates, then leans forward and takes a small, crisp bite out of the corner. Their knees brush momentarily, and she sits back in the booth and considers the flavors of butter and melted cheddar on her tongue.

“Good, huh?” Mulder asks, taking a bite himself. “My dad made them this way, but not on a griddle. Open-faced in the broiler so the tomatoes could get browned.”

Scully nods, stirring her coffee and blowing on it gently. “I haven’t had a grilled cheese in years,” she muses. “It’s the perfect rainy day food.”

“We can trade halves, if you want,” he suggests.

A small smile creeps across Scully’s mouth. Her Mulder has a delightful boyish streak that she pretends not to find appealing. “Race you to the playground afterward?” she jokes. Regardless, she picks up a half of her BLT and places it on his plate, taking the remaining half of his grilled cheese. 

He flashes her a brief, dazzling smile before taking another bite of his sandwich. Scully feels her cheeks warming slightly and turns her attention to her lunch. A full Mulder smile, with bright eyes and teeth, is almost too much for her to bear. A dart of sunlight spearing through a sky blanketed with soft gray clouds. 

Maybe someday she’ll tell him how he makes her feel, how sometimes her heart tumbles in her chest at the sight of him. How his most annoying moments are simultaneously the most endearing, how she’s beginning to love him just a little in spite of herself.

Maybe he already knows.

But for now they’ll just trade portions of their lunches, pass the ketchup, pool the crumpled bills in their wallets when the check comes. Travel in silence as they drive over Steven’s Pass, the view ahead blotted by low-hanging clouds.

[lenetaylor]

John Lennon's collage "for" Paul

I was very curious about the collage image going around tumblr (e.g., here, here, and here) that was identified as being made "for Paul" and titled "I Only Have Eyes for You", and done by John Lennon "at art school". Here it is; I scanned this from Julian Lennon's book Beatles Memorabilia: The Julian Lennon Collection (by Brian Southall and Julian Lennon, 2010)

You can see that Paul has written at the bottom "J.L. Collage - To Julian - love Paul x".

The book caption reads

A distinct and original collage of faces and bodies dedicated to Julian from Paul. It was created by John and given to Paul.

But the first time this previously unseen collage surfaced was in 2000. It was included in a show held by artist Peter Blake at the Tate Liverpool, called About Collage.

An article in The Independent at the time says

A John Lennon collage never seen in public is to feature in an exhibition that opens 30 years ago to the day the Beatles split... Lennon's collage, done at art school in the 1950s, comprises faces and figures cut from magazines, and features a number of eyes and lips pasted on images of girls. Blake said: "The style tied in with my Sgt Pepper's album cover, which was simply a more organised version, with bigger heads." Natalie Rudd, who helped curate the exhibition, said: "No one really knows much about Lennon's collage. … It has no title and is rather dark, with a lot of black and red and we can only guess at what he was trying to say."

In this 2009 Guardian article, Blake says,

By then I knew that Paul McCartney owned a collage that John Lennon had done, so I borrowed that. Paul also made a sound collage of Liverpool, and he made an artwork too.

Another quote from Eye Magazine in 2000:

He hopes to borrow an unseen art school collage by John Lennon, owned by Paul McCartney.

There was a book produced to accompany the show, called Peter Blake: About Collage (2000). The collage is reproduced in the book:

The credit reads "John Lennon 1940-1980, Untitled, late 1950s, Paper collage, 970 x 675mm, Private Collection". It does not have the handwritten note by Paul at the bottom.

Peter Blake's comments say:

I have followed Paul McCartney's career as an artist, so when About Collage emerged, I suggested that he made a collage, perhaps from sound, which he has pursued. John Lennon made a collage at art school during the late 1950s which is included in the show.

Paul did make a sound collage for the show, and released it as an album called Liverpool Sound Collage; some of it is on YouTube. (There used to be a website for it, long gone now, but you can see bits of it at the Internet Archive). Here's his artwork, titled The World, mentioned by Blake above (the central image is a back and white photo of Jerry Lewis):

So, to summarize:

The collage does NOT have an official title. I don't know where the "I Only Have Eyes for You" title came from

It's not clear that the collage was made for Paul specifically, only that it was given to Paul, date unknown

It's not clear if the collage Paul gave to Julian is the original or a copy

It seems unlikely that it was made at art school, as some of the images are of women in classically mid-1960s clothes and hairstyles. The only source for the date of composition seems to be Paul

It's not stated who gave the collage to Paul - it might have been John, but it could easily have been Julia or Yoko (or even Cyn?)

Paul's artwork was NOT made for John

PS. I looked through the book Paul McCartney: Paintings but the collage isn't mentioned.

PPS. I tried doing some image searches on the clearer photos of women in the collage, but got no results. Perhaps someone else will have better luck.

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

when schell were designing the fabricator's workshop, they had to constantly make an effort to mirror "the various nuances of [her] character".

her shelf is full of stacks upon stacks of either books on poisons, or experiments surrounding her poisons. she has blueprints and memorabilia of all of her favorite inventions dotted around her workspace. despite her put together facade, her safe space is a completely disorganized mess intentionally designed to parallel her "chaotically creative" nature. she gets so attached to her projects that- regardless of their complexity- she will become enraged upon their destruction.

the fabricator is very quick to anger. she gets a grudge and holds it for a very long time. she will go through extreme, often unnecessary lengths to feel vindicated for any slight against her. she is also very quick to encourage the people around her to do the same, implying that it's less than an instinctual practice and more of a lens in which she sees the world/emphasizes with others emotions.

solaris is a character who has canonically become a "zealot" for laser technology, despite the fact that lasers were only invented in the late 1950s, and patented in 1960- the decade in which the entire series takes place. in that short span of time she has gone on to create a laser so technologically advanced that it has surpassed decades and generations of current scientific progress. when you destroy it she screams like you just murdered her firstborn child.

solaris also has difficulties with communication. she is frequently sharp with people she doesn't like (ie. zor), and has no clue when she should or shouldn't hold her tongue- to the point where it most assuredly jeopardizes her own health and safety. when communicating with the agent before their cover is blown- despite generally being friendly and sympathetic towards their situation- her tone will still be rather blunt and monotone, and can easily be misconstrued as cold, curt, or frustrated.

dr prism is a highly intelligent scientist who developed the technology to combat gravity itself and still was not personally satisfied due to the immense amount of pressure she was constantly applying to herself. she devoted herself to creating robotic agents to supplant humans, succeeded, and then grew to care for those robots with such intense fervor that she considered those lives as sudo-human and of more worth than her own.

she also is highly rejection sensitive, lashing out at both herself and people around her, while simultaneously desperately craving for meaningful approval from her peers. at the end of cold shoulder- as painfully as she loathed the phoenix in that moment- she couldn't even bring herself to kill or even harm them because of her subconscious sensitivity towards others' lives.

she has a perfectly acceptable house that she- seemingly- does not live in, because she spends so much time working on her robots that she chooses to live in the factory zor lent her. she can differentiate between the hundreds of her robots and cares for them like family. she stims when she gets excited- even in the middle of a life or death scenario inside of an active volcano.

this is an incredibly unnecessarily long winded way of saying that these three women are autistic as fuck i think. why aren't we making these women more autistic?? hello???

[mybeingthere]

A Vivienne Westwood tulle skirt from the year 1993. The skirt has various layers of netted tulle in a ray of colours and prints. The skirt lowers at the front gradually getting shorter towards the rear leaving the layers fully exposed creating an amazing silhouette and explosion of colour. Only 12 copies of this design were made and sold exclusively to special Westwood clients.

How it started:

"The hippie movement was still the fashion look of late 1960s London, but this did not inspire Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren, they were more interested in rebellion and in particular 1950s clothing, music and memorabilia. Vivienne began by making Teddy Boy clothes for McLaren and in 1971 they opened Let it Rock at 430 Kings Road.

By 1972 the designer’s interests had turned to biker clothing, zips and leather. The shop was re-branded with a skull and crossbones and renamed Too Fast to Live, Too Young to Die. Westwood and McLaren began to design t-shirts with provocative messages leading to their prosecution under the obscenity laws; their reaction was to re-brand the shop once again and produce even more hard core images. By 1974 the shop had been renamed Sex, a shop ‘unlike anything else going on in England at the time’ with the slogan ‘rubberwear for the office’.

In 1976 the Sex Pistol’s God Save the Queen, managed by McLaren, went to number one and was refused air time by the BBC. The shop reopened as Seditionaires transforming the straps and zips of obscure sexual fetishism into fashion and inspiring a D.I.Y. aesthetic. The media called it ‘Punk Rock’.

The collapse of the Sex Pistols and the absorption of Punk into the mainstream left Westwood disenchanted. In 1980 the shop was refitted and renamed Worlds End, the name still in use today." https://blog.viviennewestwood.com/the-story-so-far/

[monkeyssalad-blog]

1957 Carolyn Jones Movie Still - Baby Face Nelson by Vinnie DeVille Via Flickr: Vintage promotional still of Carolyn Jones for the 1957 film noir crime drama, Baby Face Nelson. This found photograph is from the private collection of an unknown and/or unknowing art collector. It’s always a thrill when it’s from Vinnie DeVille!

[survivalist-anon]

Log 12: Long Road to the Stars.

It has been roughly 12 hours since they were departed from Lorey and Fjord. Sten and Toke now embark on a mission to retrieve a Raven Guard by the name Wick. Just two hours away from the city of Las Vegas, the Imperial Fist's transport bus had to make a necessary stop at what deceptively looks like an abandoned gas pump, likely built as a result of the expectations of the nuclear age of the 1950's. Parking right next to an old, derelict fiberglass statue of a clown holding a gas pump.

The driver, Moors, lowers the driver side window. Sticks his head out, hanging his turgid arm out like a trucker.

The eyes of the clown begin to glow green, clearly indicating there is a camera behind the big, happy wide eyed time pieces. A little slip opens on the clown's bowtie, revealing a mic.

~Ckkssshhh

"Hehehehey Hello Welcome to Gassy Gus's Gas Pump! HOooow may I be of service?"

A scraggly, cigarette scarred voice eruptes from the mic.

Moors never ceases to be amused by this. "Yeah, give me the usual Gus."

Sten, Toke, Bilhard and Cahrilo watch from the bus's camera system. While this isn't new for Cahrilo and Bilhard, Toke and Sten watch in discomfort at the creepy talking clown.

"It's like someone took a Harlequin's head, stretched it and inflated it. Never would I be so unfortunate to see something so depraved.", Toke whispered as quietly as he could to Sten.

Sten stood there less in horror but more in underwhelmed bewilderment. "Yes...'tis.... unnerving."

Cahrilo and Bilhard look at each other, rolling their eyes at their reactions.

Outside of the bus, an old crusty, funky little man, still dressed in the Woodstock 60's outfit with some odds and ends of spaceage memorabilia, comes out from the gas station woman's restroom door. Looking like a human, maximalist's wall of colorful alien Americana, with big iridescent googles, long dreads with plastic and metal charms intertwined within the tight knots.

The boys where shooketh, Cahrilo and Bilhard however literally were use to this horrendously whimsical spaceman.

"Hehehe, well now long time no see boys! How's them yuppies up north treatin y'all?!", he gives the haul of the bus a hardy slap. He goes up to the clown and takes out an industrial hose, hooking the giant nozzle into the gas tank. He jambles to the driver side. "Well Moors, HA, yah still don't look a day over 50!".

"And you have aged like fine cheese Gus! How are those fools back at Area 51? They haven't questioned why some of their fine equipments' been missing have they?", Moors and Gus go way back since the 50's. Moors, much like any of the other Astartes, had come involuntarily to Earth. Moors had been wharp sent to Ohio in Gus's family corn farm. Since then, Moors has been Gus's guardian Astartes since he was five years old. Occasionally visiting him in his later years since he joined Aldercon's facility.

"Oh those narcs hadn't even opened them danggone garages since Roswell! So what brings you down here in the fine bosom of the Newe land?", he says with a big old, carefree smile on his face.

A good chortle from Moors was a sign that he's happy because his mortal was happy. "Ah, it's Wick again. You've seen him around?", he inquires.

Gus pouts, putting his old noggin to work. "Hmmm, let me ask Keith!", takes out a sock puppet, his puppet silent, whispers into his ear, "hmmm...oh really?! Again? Great moogly that's incredible! Hmmhmm, oh....oh Keith stop it now.", he casually puts his sock puppet. "According to Keith, Wick raced the airbase again yesterday! He almost bit the dust this time. Buuuuut it seems he's in Vegas, only other place. Don't know why he keeps going there for. ", Gus over the years has developed Dementia and age related mental health issues, Moors has tried and tried again to convince to move to Fort Dorn, but sadly Gus seems to be extremely resistant to the whole plan.

"Is that so......well. Looks like I'll heading to Heresy town then. Gus. Why don't you stick with us for awhile. You do understand that you don't have to be here.", although Moors doesn't show it on his face, it breaks both his hearts to see Gus hasn't gotten any better. "We can bring your Unidentified Flying Objects too."

The crunchy desert man knew what the discussion was leading to, his smile turned into a sad frown. "Oh Moors, I can't. The desert stars need me! The great road to Milky Way Galaxy has yet to be defended, the Long Road to the Stars! I have to defend them from the forces of darkness, welcome them those can BE welcomed with open arms, and who's going to give them MIBs the good ol' runaround!? Them boys in black gotta give up one day ya know! I'd love to Moors, but I'm...needed here.", he looks to the blue void of the noon sky. "My time ain't done yet.", he whispers to himself.

A tired sigh flies from Moors. He knows Gus doesn't have much time in this world. The longer he waits for Gus to consent to coming with him, the higher the chances he will have to retrieve Gus from his bunker. "All right Gus, but listen...if you need anything. Remember I'm always here kid.", as Moors was telling him this, Gus had already unlocked the gas hose, closed everything up for next time.

Gus skitters back to the driver side window, "I'll be fine Moors, you go on ahead a win against the house big fella, take care now", again that big smile from cheek to cheek gleamed in the sunshine of the Nevada heat, waving goodbye as the bus goes on.

Moors waving his goodbyes as well.

As the buss drove a long the stretch of highway towards Los Vegas, Bilhard had gone to the driver seat slot and opened it to see if Moors was ok.

"Moors. How are you feeling?", Bilhard asking.

Moors was silent for a short moment, "....he's getting worse.", he whispers to himself, his usually calm demeanor has become somber.

"Hey, Moors, are you going to be ok?", he asked again, dryly yet concerned.

"Oh, yeah, I'm going to be fine.....for those who live such short lives...why must they be so stubborn.", Moors pondered loudly.

"It's because they live such short lives they make these decisions for themselves Moors, remember where you came from.", Bilhard had to remind Moors the occasional truth of Astartes.

For every angle of the Emperor, was once mortal.

Moors had to accept Gus's decision. Wether he wanted to or not. "Yeah...I guess....", he turns on the radio to distract himself from his own thoughts.

As country music blasts on the radio, the bus heads out to Los Vegas, the city sin, sex and as of recently..... something sinister.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My dreams were once nothing but dark voids of screaming voices and sounds of bolters going off ....now .....they speak to me through visions of tormentful pleasures of desire and uncertainty.

It would have gone forever, if it hadn't been for the blaring sounds of traffic outside the penthouse suite. The smell of last night's passionate rutting had been dancing with opened bottles of sweeted acholic beverages, perfume and more.

Surrounded by the majority of the female cast and a few brave fools for the casino's seasonal....I hazard to say performance....more like an avant-garde bastardization of some cultural myths from thousands of years ago.

One could consider me a king, surrounded by his well-satisfyed harem......I was merely a willing whore to these lonely souls.

For my heart belonged to one who was not laying upon my bare body in this room. One who is pure as her heart was kind.

These mortals can have my body....for everything else was hers....and hers alone.

I lay there pondering, how have I been so lucky as to not fully corrupt myself and give in to the chaos of deviancy and lust, does Slenessh not see the usefulness for their Chaos in me? Has the emperor blessed me with immunity, turning a blind eye to my activities? Is there nothing in this reality that could be even considered some divinity to hinder or help me, and I have just reverted to the comforting, familiar embrace of animalistic instinct....to endlessly spread my seed and be stirred by true unfiltered sexual high?

....than again....I could be just being....as chaplain Aldercon would so graciously say, 'being over dramatic '.... considering my role in this burlesque garbage.......he could be once again correct.

I turn my head to the hotel door, I could hear the heavy, lumbering footsteps our....our show director.... William Sleen.....

He unlocks the door, already smelling of his filthy cigars and tasteless cheap cologne.

"WAKE UP LADIES! oh I see there's a few gentleman here, hehe, come on folks! Next show starts at 5 o'clock this afternoon! Come on wakey wakey!", a quarter of a mortal man in sense of the word....his vision is just a sick, perverse fantasy of the exploitations of beauty, he was no cultured man either....his show from my understanding doesn't reflect the reality of the stories he had vicariously stole for profit. I could see him glinting at me through those glasses of his.

"Ah there's my Atlas! And my Hercules, and well hehe my big bronze robot.", he could barely even remember the correct name of his own characters.

"Do you mean, Talos? The bronze creation of the god of fire?", I could oml growl, everyone was in blissful peace this morning.

"Yeah yeah whatever! The guy who kidnaps Madea! Hmf, you college going types are so nitpicky, anyways Lady Luck for some damn reasons out to get a taste of your staff too. The hydrologic and pyrotechnics have broken down so looks like you won't sweatin all over the place for act 2. Sheesh.", he practically ravages the curtains open.

The collective groans spoke volumes of the protest of the early morning routine of waking up, eating their fill at the buffet downstairs for the day, and rehearsals until the show begins. It was clear the continued labor of the previous production's work load had exhausted them to the soul.

I gently coerced the actresses wrapped around my arms. "Ladies, good morning.", greeted by kisses to my chest and jaw are at this point a highlight of the morning. In spite of my guilt, I do not object to experiencing such pleasantries....the highest luxury back home on Deliverance.

"oooh good morning Wicky, last night was absolutely crazy.", Angelina cooed. Her twin, Magan, was busy getting up, caressing me. "Good morning handsome."

Adjust myself, clearing my throat, "Good morning every one.", my one command was enough to get the cast mobilized. "See ....a good morning is all you need.", ever since I've come into the scene.... Sleen has been having a bit of trouble even persuading anyone to even fallowing his suggestions.

His sneered grimace said it best on how he felt about me, "well I ain't paying you overtime to be a volunteer director here WICK. Anyways, I'm not in the mood for your Edger Allen Poe bullcrap either, I already have my brother coming in from Hollywood just POACHING my best and brightest.", his brother a movie producer named Carl Sleen, is his older sibling who's been known to make even the least known plebian into celebrities. His talent is to get hidden potential, and elevate them to fame and fortune.

From what I hear, it's a shame he is an exception and not an example.

"Well...hehe, he ain't getting my Selene. She's off limits. Can't have him taken my star performer.", he looks to me, knowing very well that he has also forbid me from interacting with her. The mortal equivalent of a squig hobbles to me, audaciously before I have even gotten out of the bed.

"Listen here big, oversized, cock. You know your role in the act, and it's to stay BENEATH the earth...yah got that? It means both on and OFF stage....", his reeking breath had nearly triggered my deepest fight response.... reminding me of the foul smelling Orks I was accustom to crushing under my boots.

"But of course.......it would be....greedy of me to ask for anything more.", I wasn't going to let this 'nurgling' get in my way.....I needed the money, but I also had to fane my loyalty to him if he were to pay me.

Selene was an immigrant from Mayotte, her family had to leave the country due to political tensions and later planned on escaping to Paris few years ago. Unfortunately, Selene had become caught in an international trafficking ring. Ending up here in this bright neon hell scape.

She was the best acrobatics performer in Los Vegas. She had worked her way through multiple shows, but now she was in Sleen's wardenship.

The crew head down stairs for our morning meal, I contemplate on how was I going to convince the battle brothers back at Fort Dorn not to put me under house arrest.

What has once started as a meaningless drive to challenge even the fastest of aircraft...now has metamorphosised into a mission to help Selene.

"So Wick, I heard yous almost died yesterday. Haha, what happened the Air Force narcs nearly beat at chicken or something?", one of our cast members, 'Tulio', was one of the back stage hands who had helped me get to my position since I had arrived in the outskirts of this city a few years ago.

"Yes. I crashed into one of the mountain sides. I lost control of the air stream and lost focus.", I responded.

"Man, you gotta be more careful, those guys at the air station literally go SPLAT if they crash. Lucky that fancy Ironman suit of yours actually works. Not like the cheap prop stuff.", he takes a quick look at the pantry chef at the dessert table. "Hey homes, I reckon you got 20... maybe 30 seconds. Mr. Wan is working.", the second I saw one of the chefs, I spared no second heading to him.

Covertly slipping him a piece of paper. "For Madame Moon, please.", I grab a plate not to see conspicuous.

He gives me a nod.

For my time here, I have befriended much of the casino staff, all of which willing to assist me with Selene.

"Smooth homes, by the way thanks I like cheesecake for breakfast.", Tulio takes the plate. "So what now, you and I don't got nothing to do for like ....8 hours?", he happy takes a sizable bite.

"hmmm....I'm in the mood for a rematch. Meet me at the truck in an hour.", as I get up from the table to pay the bill, I pass Selene.

She had passed by without a glance. As per Sleen's request....I couldn't tell what she was doing...but I'm certain she will answer the message.

End of log 12

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster

@starfrost740 @squishyowl

[nerdragenewvegas]

I unironically collect memorabilia (dice, playing cards, chips, ash trays, glasses, postcards, whatever) from Vegas Casinos from the 1950s-1960s periods but I'm Australian so it makes it really difficult to find stuff that isn't going to cost me a small fortune in shipping sometimes.

If any of my followers are American and ever come across anything like that in a thrift store or whatever, please let me know, if it's something that could go in my collection I will give you money to buy and ship it to me, plus a small tip for your time.

[madphantom]

New snippet from my writing!

Diary of Paul Killarney, November 1st, 1994 (cont'd)

By the time I was ready to leave the village, blue twilight had crept in among the trees. White fog wandered up from the nearby valley and the trees rustled in the wind. I shivered on my way to the car. Susan, darling, why did you want to be laid to rest here?

It was strange, but I almost felt watched in the parking lot. When something cracked in the thickets surrounding it I jumped, but then I saw it was merely a hare and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Its blue eyes hypnotically stared at me before it jumped off into the night.

Since when do wild rabbits have blue eyes?, I wondered. Eh, probably a trick of the light.

The Dog calmly trotted after me, unfazed by our surroundings. When I opened the car door he jumped onto the passenger seat and remained sitting there, his head curiously tilted.

I put my backpack into the trunk, climbed into the car, fastened my seatbelt and turned the key. Nothing happened. I frowned. Turned the key again. The engine stuttered, groaned, then suddenly died. I blinked. Well. Susan had had the other car when she'd left that night. I had no idea where it was right now. Probably being investigated as a crime scene in some police station.

Sighing, I got out of the car. The Dog followed, wagging his tail. For a moment I just stood in the parking lot, the trees rustling above me, and felt profoundly unsure where to go from here.

The house there on the edge of the forest, I suddenly recalled a bone-chilling, absurdly timeless voice say. If you squint you can kind of see it.

I hesitated, glanced over at the house in the dark, the window emitting a warm orange glow.

I mean, what could go wrong?

Shivering, I wrapped myself in my coat, took my backpack out of the car, locked it and began to make my way towards the house on the edge of the woods. Strangely, the Dog followed me like he knew exactly where we were going.

“You've been here before, haven't you?”, I asked him. “Here with your old friend. I wonder what stories you could tell me if you were human. I bet you've seen a lot.”

The Dog tilted his head and his too-intelligent eyes glinted in the sparse light. At first I thought he was growling, but then I realized it was more of a low purr. Then he brushed past my leg, and ran towards the house. He stopped at the doorstep, wagging his tail, and I sighed. I just couldn't understand this thing.

I rang the doorbell, my fingers numb from the cold. After a minute or two, the door suddenly opened.

Rory glanced outside, seeming confused. He was wearing a hand-knitted green sweater with a bird pattern on it and looked like he had prepared for a cozy evening. “Oh.”

“Sorry to bother you.” I awkwardly scratched my neck. “Uh, my car broke down and the last train home is already gone and I don't really know anyone here except you.”

Rory smiled. “Oh, no problem, come in! You can stay for the night.” - I entered the house and he closed the door behind me.

“I don't want to bother you…”

“No, no, it's totally fine.” His constant grin unnerved me just a little bit. “Probably gonna be a more exciting evening if I don't spend it alone again. The coat rack is over there, and you can take your shoes off or leave them on, whatever you like. I made biscuits, would you like some?”

“No, thank you.” I awkwardly hung my coat up and followed Rory into the living room. He peeked outside the window while I sat down onto the green plush sofa.

“It's probably gonna rain soon,” Rory commented. “I had a pretty grisly injury back in 1973, I can feel the weather change ever since. Worst superpower of all time.” He laughed. “Would you like some tea?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure.”

“Excellent.” He hushed over to the kitchen. While he was busy heating the kettle, I got up and began pacing around the living room.

The wallpapers were floral and faded, 1950s style. The plentiful shelves were painted moss green and filled with memorabilia of all kinds.

Rory glanced over at me. “Interesting, isn't it? Some of it belonged to the previous owner of the house, I just thought it'd be a shame to get rid of it. The wallpapers too. She had good taste, I have to admit. Lived here from 1936 to 1967, until she suddenly passed away.” He walked over to the sofa and put two chipped cups onto the table. “Tea’s finished. Sugar?”

“No thanks.” I returned to my seat and I took a sip of the tea. It tasted surprisingly well. The Dog came over, his tail wagging, and put his head on Rory's knee. The man laughed. “Aww, you missed me?”

“I have to admit - I can't believe the Dog acts this way around you,” I began and Rory glanced up. “I mean, he never listened to anyone but Susan and with you he's a downright darling.”

“You just gotta treat him right.” Rory scratched the Dog's ear. “He likes his dignity.”

Soft rain began tapping against the window glass like fingers. Rory sat up and raised his head, in some odd way regal as a long-necked heron, but with his hair covering his eyes it was impossible to tell his expression. It unnerved me.

He smiled. “Ha, I was right.”

“Hm?”

“About the rain.” He limp-wristedly waved towards the window.

“Oh.” I leaned back into the sofa, trying to distract myself from how tense I was. “So, how long have you been living here?”

“Oh, since 1970.” He was smiling a little wider again and I shivered. “The house was left desolate for a while after the previous owner's death and, you know, it looked intriguing.”

“Intriguing? How so?”

“There’s a history in these walls, you know? Someone has lived and died here for over a hundred years, over and over and over. You can feel it, I think. You can feel that it's alive in some way. At some point the house becomes its own inhabitant, and the inhabitant their own house.”

“What, you think the house is haunted?” I laughed.

Rory tilted his head. “That's an interesting way to phrase it. Maybe. By memories.”

For a while we just sat in the living room, drinking tea. The rain drummed against the windows and the orange light flickered. The Dog had wandered off into the other rooms and Rory had let him. The familiarity between the two was odd, almost like old friends that had drifted apart over the years, but never quite let go of the bond between them.

“How did you and Susan meet, if I may ask?” Rory leaned forward, putting down his chipped teacup.

I chuckled melancholically. “Oh, that was a funny story.

It was raining the night we met. I was on the train, going home from some outing with friends I've long lost touch with, somewhat drunk, but sober enough to realize the extent. The train was completely empty, and all you could see outside was blackness, only occasionally interspersed by the lonesome lights of a train station, and all you could hear was the hypnotic clacks of the train, and the greenery scraping against the windows like hungry ghosts.

I was, as I mentioned, drunk, and in the dark all the stations looked the same, so when I got out and discovered to my dismay that my stop had been twenty minutes ago, I didn't quite know what to do with myself. For the moment, I just sat down on a bench at the train station, and stared at the rain falling from the black sky. The station was on a hilltop, and through the rain, you could see the sleeping villages, the trees, and way in the distance, a lake in a valley.

“Beautiful night, isn't it?”

I flinched and turned my head. A young woman was standing on the other side of the station, a huge, three-legged dog at her feet. I had no idea how long she'd been standing there, or how long I'd been sitting here.

“Huh?”, was all I could say.

She shrugged and walked over to the bench, hands in the pockets of her corduroy pants. The Dog followed like a watchful shadow, his white teeth glinting in the barely existent light. “I said it's a beautiful night.”

“Oh.” I didn't know what to say. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“Are you here for the view too?”, she asked.

“Uh, no.” I awkwardly ran a hand through my hair, unsure what to say. “I…may have gotten off at the wrong stop.”

She laughed and something about her laugh chased a shiver down my spine. I had never heard such a beautiful sound in my life. “Happens.”

“How about you?”

“I always come here when it rains.” She sat down next to me. I could smell the scent of her brown leather jacket and when I glanced at her I saw that despite her youth, her blonde hair was full of silver strands. “For the view. You see the lake over there?”

“In the valley?”

“Yes.” She smiled. She had a smile that showed her gums and it was oddly endearing in the moment. “There's a house by that lake. I used to live there.”

I squinted and barely saw the white outline of that house. It was a tiny dot in the distance, like a faraway star, and yet the sight of it made me shiver.

The girl turned her head and glanced at me. “I'm Susan, by the way. You?”

“Paul.”

“Nice to meet you, Paul.” She smiled. And that was that.”

Rory smiled. “Sounds like her. You know, it was raining when I met her, too. Funny, isn't it?”

I smiled.

“I suppose so,” I said.

What I didn't say was: On the 271st night we met (I counted every single one of them), when I finally got down on one knee, she finally turned to me, her eyes big and sad and shiny.

“You do realize you will never be the love of my life, don't you?”, she asked. “I just wanted to say it before I break your heart. Because mine is in that valley and that's where it stopped beating. You're standing before a dead girl, and dead girls cannot fall in love.”

“I don't care,” I whispered and shook my head. “As long as you stay in my life.”

She blinked slowly. Then she slowly ran her cold fingers across my cheek.

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” she whispered and kissed me.