#Antique Washer

[johnjhalseth]

L. Norman Dillon Farm Museum Fall Festival Oct 15 2023

I bitch and moan about doing the laundry every week but looking at these early Maytag model washers, perhaps I shouldn't.

Dillon Farm Museum - Home

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Maytag - Wikipedia

[staffatemyblog]

Give me opportunity for minimalism and I will kill it with clutter and color. My room was driving me crazy while it was empty, I'm so happy to have it (mostly) put back together now

[jaymepollock]

Cleveland Laundry Room Small trendy l-shaped vinyl floor dedicated laundry room photo with a drop-in sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, beige walls and a stacked washer/dryer

[bluedoveyellowsun]

Miami Traditional Laundry Room

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Who doesn't love a perfectly preserved time capsule? This 1968 beauty in Rockford, IL is like stepping back in time. 4bds, 4ba, $450K.

The small entrance has tiled flooring to protect the carpet that runs all through the house.

Why is it always green? This was a dramatic home when it was new- stone fireplace, sunken living room, and wrought iron railings were the height of fashion.

The living area is huge. Note the large stone bench matching the fireplace and the cornice boards that discreetly hide the unsightly curtain rods.

The fireplace stone continues and has a huge mirror. In the corner is shelving and 2 steps up to the dining room.

The dining room has dated curtains that the buyer will inherit. I love the kitty-corner table. That was a common placement in mid-century style.

Next comes the kitchen. Actually, they must've updated it b/c I don't think that 2-tone cabinets were a thing yet. But, the ditzy, small, busy print of the wallpaper with matching shades was definitely the style. Note the original avocado dishwasher and dust shelving above the upper cabinetry, that was later replaced by soffits.

Wait a minute, I'm seeing props here- there's a new dishwasher and new ovens, but they kept the old avocado ones. I wonder if they work or, if it's just nostalgia. There are also 2 cooktops. Wow, they really preserved everything.

Look at the green glass.

Large laundry room off the kitchen.

Oh, look, an avocado washer/dryer set. This is amazing. And, look at the old sink. I hope someone who loves it, buys it, b/c it was so lovingly cared for.

Nice large everyday dining area has a pony wall separating the family room. So much green everywhere. I wonder if this set came that way or if they painted it.

Another stone fireplace flanked by shelving. Knotty pine walls, and folding shutter doors- all fashions of the past. I can't believe that they have the Colonial furniture that was so popular at the time. Even though it was all the rage, you don't see it around anymore. According to the listing, there is going to be an estate sale, so this furniture will be available.

The primary bedroom is pretty big. Geez, there's carpeting everywhere and some of it is looking gnarly.

It has an en-suite, which is unusual. Look at that fancy cabinet. Green laminate counter, too.

This bedroom is also pretty big. Look at the consummate girl's white bedroom furniture of the mid-century.

The den has a big old map probably with countries that don' t even exist anymore.

More bedrooms on the 2nd fl.

Oh, look at that! A hope chest! They were popular for a teenage girl to receive as a gift. Then, she would put in blankets, etc., in the hopes of one day getting married and using them. I can't get over the historic furniture in this place.

And, then they've got a big family room up here. Wow, this house has so much furniture and tchotchkes.

Winter? No problem. Just set the lawn furniture up in the basement.

There's also a finished part of the basement. This is a craft room, and there is also a canning room.

Look at the antique freezer on the right. This place is a museum.

This part of the basement isn't finished even though it has a brick fireplace. No matter, they still used it as a family room, anyway.

According to the listing, this is a 2 car garage, called a "cottage garage," b/c I guess it looks like a residence.

This cool log cabin on the property is used as a playhouse, according to the listing.

Yeah, but look at it, it's really a residence.

There's a lot of land, 3.50 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6151-Newburg-Rd-Rockford-IL-61108/5537324_zpid/

[rainylana]

Random Eddie Headcanons

no warnings, just strictly fluff and some random things that i think are eddie coded! hope everyone is doing okay! just a reminder that my requests are closed, as i’m trying to give myself more of a break! love you all!

• i feel like his room would be like going into an antique shop. he’s got so much shit everywhere, half of it is trash and beer cans, but he’s got so many little trinkets and what he calls “treasures” that he just can’t seem to part with. he’s probably lowkey a hoarder.

• he likes going yard saling just for the sole excuse to rummage through peoples stuff. he likes to pick out a mug to give to wayne, or a random hat to hang up with his collection on the wall. it’s what he spends his pocket change on.

• still has his baby blanket that’s basically worn down to a rag. he’s too afraid to wash it, thinking maybe it’ll get torn to pieces in the washer. he tangles up with it every night and it winds up at his feet by morning.

• would definitely be the type of person to get a smiley face tattooed on the tip of his penis.

• likes old country music just because wayne does. he’s a big fan of john denver and america.

• hasn’t been to the doctor in years. he’s too afraid to go. wayne got him to go a few times when he was a kid for a regular checkup, but by 15 he refused to go so wayne stopped forcing him. he’s deathly afraid of getting shots or that wooden stick that presses on his tongue.

• there’s a trailer next door that has two little girls who like to have tea parties outside. it’s never real tea, just air in their cups that eddie made the mistake of pointing out, but they always ask him to join and he does, sticking up his pinky and making tea party conversation.

• he definitely wakes the trailer park up when he’s coming home in the middle of the night, whether it’s from band practice or a random hook up. his music is on full blast. wayne will burst out the door, cussing and carrying on about turning it down.

• loves the golden girls and gilligans island, definitely scooby doo. probably hates the brady bunch because of the cheesy family dynamic, but loves watching little house on the prairie reruns in the middle of the night.

• prob made his own tattoo gun and tried to tattoo his leg. he failed. and hurt himself in the process.

• he would love greenhouses i think, but he’s always really hot and burning up inside them. he likes to smell all the types of flowers and pluck the petals and rub them between the pads of his fingers.

• trades cassettes with his friends, but will never give up his metallica or black sabbath ones.

[evanpfics]

Boy Next Door (I)

Tate Langdon x Reader (Angst/Story)

Warnings: cussing, arguing, stalkish vibes, mentions of an affair (wc: 2.8k)

The story is somewhat based on AHS murder house, a lot was changed though but I used it for inspiration. If you have any feedback or notice mistakes let me know kindly!

You decided to move out of Orlando, FL and into Los angeles, CA after your father had an affair with your bestfriend.

You resented your father for it, you blamed him for ruining your family’s bond. you also found it disturbing how he went for someone near your age when he was double it.

Both of your parents stayed silent the whole ride only talking to ask you if you needed anything or when they had to make quick stops for gas. You enjoyed the silence since it’s only been yelling and mayhem since your mom caught your dad in the act.

You found yourself drifting to sleep being drawn into the sounds of cars passing by, driving always had a certain sound you enjoyed.

After what seemed like seconds you woke up to the car passing a speed bump, hard. It woke you up abruptly.

“We’re here!” Your dad said excitedly.

You peered out the car window seeing a red-bricked unkept house. The garden practically suffocating the house in weeds and all sorts of plants, looked like it had no one living there for decades.

“It could use some work, but I’m sure If we worked together we can make it look brand new. Woo! Right guys?” Your dad continued sounding very proud.

Silence.

You felt the awkwardness take over and you sighed heavily before leaving the car.

Your dad was always the more excited happy one. Sad he had to make stuff sort of weird.

Your dad looked over at your mom with a awkward confused look planted on his face. Your mom rolled her eyes in response as she left the car as-well.

Leaves and plants crunched under your shoes as you walked up the few steps and reached the front door.

Your fingers guided between the crevasses of the reddish brown bricks. You can see dirt and dust leave a residue on your finger tips and you rubbed it on skirt in disgust.

You soon regretted that as the dirt left a off putting color on your skirt as you tried to wipe that away as-well. You can hear your mom trail behind you as she begins to unlock the front door.

“Oh dear, don’t get your clothes too dirty y/n. We don’t know if the washers here work yet and the closest laundromat is god knows how far.” She groaned.

You nodded your head in response as she stepped inside allowing you to soon follow.

“Go ahead and pick out your room honey, me and your dad are gonna.. figure out what to do with this place.” She said exhaustingly, sounding already tired of this place.

Can’t blame her, seemed like a lot of work just for this place. Pricing for this place was unbelievably low, you never questioned why but you assumed it was because of how unkept this place was.

You found the stairs and slowly made your way up them observing the wooden steps and hanging chandelier.

Floor boards creaked each step you took.

After seeing every room you finally chose yours. Each room was already furnished and you were surprised with the one you chose. It matched what you envisioned your room which you found odd since sellers normally go for more.. modern looks. Especially for a house like this.

You walked around your room admiring each little thing about it. Most of it seemed used as if someone was still living here. You found it odd but just assumed that if there was someone here you would’ve known by now.

After awhile of admiring antiques around your room you start to make your way down stairs to tell your parents about your chosen room.

As you step off the final step you see your parents talking to an unfamiliar woman dressed in a, maid uniform?

“Ah honey! Meet our.. new maid.” She said hesitantly unsure what to really call her.

The woman turned around revealing her elderly face. Even elderly she was quite pretty, you can see almost a story behind her eyes.

She was a red-head, half blind, fragile looking woman.

She stared at you shortly before shooting you a gentle smile.

“Hello dear, and you guys can call me Moira.”

You crept your way towards your family as the woman stuck out her hand. You shook it.

“Its nice to meet you” You said after the handshake. “Since when did we get a maid?” You asked as you stared at your parents giving them a confused look.

“Uhm well, we aren’t too sure about the idea yet. She insisted and-“ your dad said before getting cut off.

“Im willing to work for free” The woman budged in. “I can cook, clean, and do anything you’d like. Im great at it i assure you. Can do as much as cooking you cuisine to getting the most riggest stains out of whatever you’d like” she said shooting your parents a soft smile.

Her smile and attitude made you feel save. Plus her elderly figure kind of added on into your comfort. Oddly.

“Then.. I guess it will be fine, but really. Are you sure your find with working for free? I mean, we hardly know you and that just seems to generous of you.” Your mom replied, sounding very confused from her offer.

“Of course, all I ask for is for a break every Halloween to visit my mother and every other Holiday to just relax.” Moira gently stated.

“Oh my god of course, take as much time as you need. Doing this for us is already a big thing.” Your mom said sounding happy.

The room got quiet as Moira nodded and started prepping and cleaning dishes to cook, randomly.

You made your way back up the stairs and into your room. You plopped yourself on the bed before remembering you forgot to tell your mom you chose your room.

You groaned disappointingly.

“New neighbors, huh?” You heard from in-front of your bed.

You jolted up almost panicked as you stared up at what caused the noise.

You see a blonde haired boy not too far from your age staring down at you. His eyes seemed dark and empty.

“Who the hell are you?” You snapped sounding scared but trying to hide that so you would sound more intimidating.

The boy smiled, his eyes still empty which freaked you out by the lack of visible emotion behind them.

“I’m Tate. Tate Langdon. I’m your neighbor.” The boy said as he sat beside you along your bed.

You moved your legs away from him now having your knees to your chest.

“Scared?”

“No.” You stuttered a bit. Your face made slight visible frustration as you heard your own voice stutter.

Tate hesitated before laying his back on the bed.

“Now he’s just overdoing it. Getting way to comfortable and I hardly even know him.” You thought.

“Do you.. need something?” You asked after awhile of debating if you should just leave or figure out what the hell this dude is doing.

He looked over at you taking awhile to reply as he just stared. It made you uncomfortable.

“Sorry.” He said before trailing out your door.

Visible confusion took over as you wondered what just happened. You were glad dude wasn’t a total weirdo.

It still was really odd. Like who does that?

After a bit of processing on your bed you stood up unpacking your clothes.

You thought everything in your room is beautiful and felt unbelievably lucky.

You stuffed your drawers with clothes.

You took out your very few records.

“Shit.” You thought to yourself.

You packed your records but totally forgot the god damn record player.

You lightly needed your eye brows in frustration before hearing a sound behind you.

You jolted towards the sound to see what caused it.

Nothing.

You slowly walked towards your nightstand expecting some sort of rat or spider judging based on the house.

Sudden rattling was heard from under your bed which really crept you out.

After awhile of going back and fourth on weither or not you even want to look under the dark shadow under your bed possibly being greeted by some human sized pest.

Which was just you exaggerating; but the idea still made you shiver.

You finally gain the courage to look under your bed.

You laughed at yourself a bit seeing as nothing was there, but a box shaped object?

You pulled it out.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“This house must be able to fucking read minds!” You thought to yourself.

You opened the box in half revealing a record players interior.

You blew away the visible dust smiling in delight that your misfortunate forgetfulness didn’t totally turn out horribly.

You took the record out of its sheet and gently placed it onto the record player lightly pressing the needle onto the record allowing it to play.

You lightly hummed to the songs rhythm as you set the record player on your dresser. You finished taking everything out of your bags as you plop them on the floor kicking them under your bed.

You left your pajamas on the bed. You picked them up swiftly before deciding to take a quick shower before you slept. You entered the bathroom being able to see the white marbled tub and beautiful white tiles.

The house definitely looked better from the inside than the outside. You set your clothes neatly on-top of the counter as you prepped your shower. The drops of water echoing through out the bathroom.

You got undressed and placed yourself in the shower allowing yourself to relax under the showers soothing rain. You quickly washed your hair and body before stepping out, turning the shower off as you exited.

You dried yourself off before hearing glass shatter and screaming coming from downstairs.

You frantically dried the rest of your body and changing into your clothes before running down the stairs, steps creaking as you make your way down.

You found your father yelling at someone whom you have never even seen in your life. You exhaled in relief since you thought something more outrageous happened. You watched them argue hidden behind the corner.

It was just the glass vase that dropped, you were a bit upset since the base wasn’t totally horrible looking. After hearing their argument you assumed it was one of your dads patients.

He often treated patients. He was a therapist. He held his sessions at home so the patient must’ve came by to be treated just to be unhappy with whatever service he provided.

“You said you would help me! Not just constantly treat me as if I’m fucking crazy. IM NOT FUCKING CRAZY, YOU UNDERSTAND?” The patient screamed.

“Please just calm down, I never said you were crazy, okay? i just-“

“FORGET YOU AND YOUR SHITTY SESSIONS! I CAN FIND SOMEONE WAY BETTER WHO CAN ACTUALLY HELP.” The patient yelled, cutting your dad off, giving him no time to speak.

The door slammed shut. Your dad exhaled sternly massaging his forehead. He placed his clipboard on the nightstand near the door before grabbing the broom and sweeping up the remains of the broken glass.

You shuffled towards him as his eyes met yours.

“Oh hello sweetheart, do you like the house so far?” He smiled as if nothing happened.

You nodded.

“Mhm.” You hummed. “I picked out my room and everything, do you know where mom is?” You questioned.

He swept up the rest of the glass before responding. “Yeah.. yeah. She’s helping the maid clean. You know how she is. Would feel too bad letting her do it alone even if she insisted.”

You smiled. “That’s totally her.” You replied as you looked around unsure what to really do.

“Oh yeah!” You said as you recalled the strange boy in your room earlier. “Did you by chance have a certain patient here? One named tate langdon.”

Your dad looked at you then away trying to recall anyone named Tate.

“Blonde hair.. green and black striped-“

“Oh! Tate, yes.” Your dad shouted lightly as he remembered who you were asking about.

“He had set an appointment with me earlier after we found out we were neighbors. How do you know him?” Your dad asked before making his way into the kitchen dumping the broken glass out into the trash can.

“Ah nothing, just overheard the name and got curious.” You said hesitantly.

“Hm.. okay. You should head to bed honey the trip was unbelievably longer than expected just to get here.” He said reluctantly.

You made your way back upstairs and into your room. The music still flooding the room making you instantly feel safe. You laid down onto your bed wrapping yourself in your blankets before dozing off to sleep.

…

You felt a dent form in your mattress. You can hear your record playing then stopping then playing again over and over due to the needle finally reaching the end of the whole record creating light buzzing sounds.

You lifted your upper body up rubbing your eyes. You open them.

You jolted back opening your mouth getting ready to let out a scream.

A hand quickly covered your mouth before even being able to let out the slightest noise. Their reflexes kind of caught you off guard.

Your body squirmed as you grabbed their arm trying to remove it. They fought back making you have to take time to catch your breath knowing they would overpower you easily, no matter how hard you tried.

“Stop. STOP!” They yelled still in a quiet tone making sure no one else can hear it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have scared you like that. Please.”

Your eyes locked with theirs. You stared at your clock seeing as it was 2:30AM. You store back at him making eye contact with him again.

You nodded your head hesitantly still a bit shaken up. They removed their hand and you continued to catch your breath.

“What are you doing here, Tate?”

He stared at you making himself put up an almost fake looking smile.

“This use to be my room you know? Still have all of my stuff in it. Not that you seem to mind.” He said as he looked around the room then staring at his moved record player.

“Oh shit, my bad. I didnt know any of this was yours.” You said slightly panicked.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t need any of this stuff anymore so don’t think about it too much.” He gently stated.

“This stuff is kind of old anyways, hardly come in here anymore anyways.”

You planted a confused look on your face.

“So how old are you?” You questioned him.

“Y/A. I’m y/a.” He said sounding somewhat more stern. Caught you off guard.

He surprisingly was the same age as you.

“Do you still come into here or something?.. since you said you hardly come in here anymore.” You asked sounding puzzled.

He stared at you as if he was trying to find out what to say.

“No, no. I just- no. When this use to be mine I mainly hung around outside of the house. Hardly ever really home.” He hesitated.

“Why’s that?” You questioned.

He seemed a bit surprised from your sudden interest in what he has to say.

“Well, my moms a real bitch. My dad left at a young age probably because of her too. Wouldn’t be surprised.” He chucked to himself.

You were a bit surprised and stunned from his openness. Like yeah you did ask, but you weren’t expecting him to just dive into it.

“How did you even get in here?”

“Extra key. Kept it and the owners never asked for it sooo..” he said as he held up a key.

You sighed.

“Well, can you at least not just sneak up on me whenever? It gets kind of uncomfortable. I hardly know you.”

He laughed a bit.

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you know more about me then I do you. Don’t even know your name.” He said clicking his tongue.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m y/n.”

“Y/n? That’s a nice name. Very nice to just hear.”

You smiled a bit.

“See? Now we are more acquainted. So, can I come in here whenever now?”

Your face became stern.

“Fine Fine.” He sighed sarcastically.

“Can I at least still visit you?” He smirked. His smile seemed actually real this time.

“I guess, but don’t expect much. I’m not gonna warm up to you just because I know your name. Your still just some creep who broke into my room, twice now.” You stated.

He stood up, he walked to the door before staring back taking in the view of his room. He smiled at you before leaving.

Something about his eyes drew you in, but also made you scared of what could be in them. He seemed sweet, but it felt as if there was something.. beyond that.

It made you oddly interested in the guy.

Hoping to meet him again soon.

Inspired by American Horror Story; Murder House. (2011)

[somany-fandoms-solittle-time]

“What’s so Special About the Moon?”

Jamil Viper x MC(insert character Mac)

(Ch. 1) – Ch. 2 – Ch. 3 – Ch. 4 – Next – Previous

This was originally supposed to be, like, a single chapter hurt/comfort before my OC (Mac) and Jamil as a song fic where they berate him and then sing a song referencing the moon… but then I had feelings and it’s becoming a more in depth character study between the two. Don’t worry! By the end of this mini series, there will be song lyrics and more sappiness… it’s just now that I’ve finished both Book 4 and Book 5, I need to reorganize the events and specific and whatnot. Some quick housekeeping as always: I tried to make Jamil to encompass both his dark & mysterious villain persona ALONG WITH him practically being a fucking child so that’s why I wrote him like *this* so yeah… I’m moving around the timeline so that Yuu/MC (aka Mac) has the weekend to GET THEIR SHIT TOGETHER LOL, Mac is about 19-20 (haven’t decided yet) and uses mixed pronouns as a heads up, Ch. 2 has a 1st draft written put still needs to be typed up and edited. If you see a typo NO YOU DIDN’T!!! This one of my first times trying a different writing doc that isn’t Google (cuz fuck Google) and it’s a little weird to get used to and edit stuff. It’s beta-d in the sense that licking the spatula while your mom bakes cookies and claiming that you helped… literally only a few paragraphs were checked over y’all.

Quick shout-out to @krenenbaker and @twst-beam for inspiring my writing thus far (and sorry for taking so long to post this lol!)

I’ll be releasing some type of overview of my OC eventually, but take these snippets as they go while I fall back in love with writing. You’ll meet Mac in full when xey are good and ready… anyway, please enjoy Chapter 1 of my new fanfiction, “What’s So Special About the Moon?”

“Here. You can use this one,” Jamil directed towards the plain (compared to the rest of the dorm) laundry… mat? There were several industrial sized washer and dryers, a couple moderate-sized one’s that would fit a regular apartment complex, and a long wall designated area for hand washed items. Jamil was keeping the door prompt open with his hips; his slight frown of concentration and the flick of his Magic Pen were the only signs of the current spell he had going. Turning around, MC was slightly surprised by the massive piles of fabric that was being corralled in via multiple a massive sheet tied to multiple brooms. They still couldn’t fully grasp the concept (and power) of magic and seeing it so casually performed on a day-to-day basis was kinda daunting.

“Thanks again for letting us use the space along with showing me how to properly clean all these fancy duds and whatnot.” the Ramshackle Perfect awkwardly trailed off. Their focus was split between stealing peaks at the Scarabia Vice Warden, not wanting to bother the already busy Sophomore, and surveying over the dusty, damaged antique pieces the two stripped from the halls of the previously abandoned dorm. Rugs, carpets, curtains, furniture covers (in varying state of disrepair) dulled of their once rich and vibrant color. The patterns were a mix of stuffy academia and the quiet comfort of a grandparents cottage living room. Both extravagant, yet understated. It’s a style lost to time, but not quite a revived ancient aesthetic.

At this point MC was fully lost in thought; they desperately needed to clean, fix, organize and decorate the dorm in preparation to host so many guests. Even with his limited memories, they had a feeling they’d never hear the end of it from his parents.

“Don’t worry about it much.” Jamil said, interrupting their musings. “Honestly, I’m doing this as much for myself as I am helping you.

With a flick of his wrist, Jamil organized the seemingly random crumbled piles of fabric by condition, color and use. His movements while cleaning were quick, smart, and efficient-- all while patiently showing Mac which order to start in along with the best way to clean them.

“Ya’ know…” MC broke the relative quietness between the two workers, “Even with everything thing that happened over break, I understand why Kalim still trusts you; I almost can believe that you’re not that bad of a guy.” Jamil gave xem a startled (and exasperated) look, but they continued before he could respond: “I fail to see how helping the person who ruined your ‘world domination’ plans—”

“They were hardly World Domination level!” He quickly snapped. His embarrassment led to him tugging his hood further down his face, teeth slightly clenched, and dilated eyes as MC continued listing all the ways he’s “helped” them out.

The magic-less Perfect laughed to themselves the more conflicting emotions flew across Jamil’s face. Eventually those same emotions were compressed behind a cold, smooth mask. Limestone slabs and stiff mud brick walls were swiftly constructed between the two working-class students. Something about it didn’t sit right with Mac.

“Hey I’m not saying what you pulled wasn’t a dick move! But you’re also not the first overly-traumatized teen boy I’ve had to deal with… and between what you’ve said about yourself, plus thing’s I’ve heard and seen, I’m starting to think you’re not nearly as complicated as you think you are.” The longer they argued *to* him, the more Jamil’s mask began to crack; there were a few holes in his walls he didn’t account for. Xe’s a tad more observant than I remember, but weirdly just as persistent, Jamil internally rolled his eyes.

“I could still change my mind and send you back to deal with the Pomefiore Wrath(tm),” He mumbled while gracefully lugging the newly cleaned (and damp) furniture coverings into an empty drier. Despite his harsh threat, MC still remembered him assuring the other this laundry room was only ever used by him after Kalim’s parties.

The large machines and larger working space was specifically added for the servant to clean and repair any decor or Asim Family Treasures when Kalim’s recklessness caused a larger mess than usual. This meant that Mac and Grim (who was originally supposed to be helping… where the hell was he anyway?) could do as many loads needed without worry. On top of the borrowed space, the Housewarden himself had cheerily has assured them, his Oasis Maker would replace all the water used ten times over!

Mac’s thoughts were interrupted once again as Jamil relented, “I told you, I’m doing this to help me.” After receiving an unconvinced eyebrow raise, Jamil began to explain, “Kalim might’ve announced us as equals but I still have a job to do. If he got sick while spending Allah knows how long in a dusty, dirty, shabby condemned building like Ramshackle I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It’s not nearly that bad anymore!” the sole-human resident of said dorm argued, but was quickly shut up with a tired gesture towards the untouched loads of laundry left to be done.

“On top of that,” Jamil smirked “Even a common peasant like myself wouldn’t sleep in a rundown garbage heap if I can help it.” His smirk slowly slide off his face from his face as the insulted Perfect almost ripped the handful of soapy doilies, that they were previously scrubbing by hand, as xey prepared a retaliation.

“OK, first of all! This whole Inferior-Superior shtick isn’t going to prove your point. If I’m being totally honest, I’m pretty used to the bratty, arrogant attitude of teenagers by now (even if I wasn’t Leona is a thousand times worse).” They turned their full body to face the 2nd year boy before continuing the assault. “Secondly, even just doing the bare minimum would’ve been fine, considering I’ve slowly been deep cleaning them place room by room. This is just last minute cleaning considering I wasn’t expected to host six extra people in two days.”

The shock of Mac’s care and attention to detail couldn’t win over Jamil’s newfound freedom to be right… and sassy while doing it. “Keep in mind you wouldn’t be the only one having to deal with Vil. His expectations are much higher than my personal standards—”

“Getting there!” MC interrupted again. “It’s not like Vil and whoever else couldn’t magic things better or get things done over at Pomefiore.” However, their fire started to die down with their obvious lack of understanding of magic. Not that Xeir level of intellect ever stopped them from talking out of their ass during debates… even if this wasn’t exactly shaping up to be anything like Debate Club back home.

“Not the point!” Mac built back their steam after thoughtlessly shaking off any internal distractions. “Third of all,” Jamil groaned not-so-quietly, “third of all, you didn’t have to show me how to do it. Nor did you have to continue helping me. There’s only so much I could pay you back in favors and it’s not like you’ll make back the time and energy spent. You’re obviously a bit of a piece of shit but I don’t totally blame…”

Jamil suddenly gave Mac his full attention. He smoothed any emotional tells from his face and readied himself to actively dissect what ever left xeir mouth and any messages in between the lines. The silence prompted Mac to drip extra sincerity as they begin to ramble without thinking.

“… I get why you did what you did. You’re not totally forgiven, but it’s not like I’ll hold a grudge over you forever. Whenever I joke about Winter Break I thought you knew it was just that: a joke.”

The two stared at one another for a few beats. Jamil betrayed nothing that he was thinking, but Mac could practically feel the exasperation flooding off of him in great waves. The disbelief pushing and pulling off of him, despite remaining stone cold to zeir admission. So, of course, they continued with slight for fever:

“Yeah, okay, you held us all prisoner, enslaved via hypnosis your entire dorm, and nearly killed multiple students. Twice.” Mac cringed at their own blunt statement, “… But why would you go as far as you did, if you didn’t care! What your parents, and more specifically your culture, put you through wasn’t fair—but you obviously still love and cherish them!”

At this, he seemed to get even more guarded. It felt patronizing to be hold how he supposedly felt or why he should feel a specific way. They hadn’t been there. They hadn’t grown up as a Viper in the Desert, constantly reminded by Kalim’s Mirage of wealth what he could never have. They didn’t know the FIRST thing about the Scalding Sands—!

“… How do you know anything about my parents? Did Kalim--?!” He choked out infuriated at the mere implication.

“Relax Viper! It’s all in the Secret of The Ooze™”

“What?”

“Never mind…”

The usual absurdity of MC’s references (much to xeir chagrin that no one seemed to understand them) Jamil allowed himself a shadow of a smirk. Right about now they’d drop what they were saying and instead empathize with him over terrible bosses. They’d both fall back into a familiar pattern of quiet understanding while making playful small talk; maybe Xe’d make a remark over how “hellish” the desert temperature is and moan about being “a poor Northern forced into the sun” before dragging them both off to grab an abominably sweet drink that Kalim would still put sugar in. Xe had always been could at mediating with the other students at NCR.

However, they didn’t drop it. They continued to push him… especially when they realized that he expected the conversation to have ended and started to relax. Xey pushed and pushed and pushed. Finally, they had circled back to him rebelling from his status.

“What? You think I’d be Happier staying a lowly servant?! I’d rather cut my own tongue out than remain bending to Kalim’s will for the rest of my days.” He huffed, still not stopping his assault on the pile of laundry in front of him.

A frustrated sigh left Mac as Xey tried to get their point across, “THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M SAYING!… Obviously, you don’t love being forced into child labor or having to pretend to be something you’re not, but that doesn’t mean you’re totally being honest with yourself either. Rebelling adolescents often do a complete 180 of who they once presented as in an extreme action to feel validated.”

Jamil scoffed in indignation at the impromptu therapy session he’d been forced into.

“Just because you were forced to lie sometimes as ‘Servant Jamil’ doesn’t mean those memories or feelings weren’t authentic!”

“My Childhood, my Pride, my ENTIRE LIFE was stolen from me before I could even open my eyes, Mac! Who could cherish that sort of future?”

“I’m not disputing that! I’m not trying, in any way, to imply that what you went through didn’t fucking suck. But just because you’ve started saying the quiet part out loud doesn’t mean you’re being totally honest either. Switching one mask for another just means nothing has changed but your ability to bitch about-it to the kid you literally Grew Up With, Jamil.” A tired resignation was growing in their eyes as they headed to the end of xeir rant.

It was clear MC was starting to speak in circles and xey weren’t going to be able to get through to them. A heavy weight sunk deep in their chest, slowly sliding to xeir stomach the more he misunderstood the magic-less student. I saw him drown in the depths of his own helplessness and self-pity, but even after he’s been pulled out it’s like he can’t help but dive back in for a swim. It was a suffocating thought while Mac watched as Jamil once again went stone-faced… Like what he was about to say would be his final shield before walking away. It’s a shame that the Ramshackle Resident had become too used to throwing bombs over walls and blowing verbal shields to smithereens after months of being stuck in Twisted Wonderland.

“I’m not sugarcoating or bowing down to anyone anymore. I won’t bite my tongue. I won’t put on a Happy Face to Kalim’s idiotic, half-thought out ideas again. I’m slowly gaining my freedom, something you clearly don’t understand. Just because you’re as blind as he is doesn’t mean anything! What more could you want from me?!” He hissed his final insult before finally stepping away from his station. Not leaving the room, he aggressively got himself a cup of water from one of the sink and gulped the unfiltered water down.

“Just because you’re not hiding your bitter, knee-jerk reaction from an unfair world doesn’t mean you aren’t still hiding away and lying about your more vulnerable emotions.” Mac whispered in an emotionless tone. “Cutting a part of your past off and pretending it was never there is doing yourself a disservice and lying to those that still care about you… And there sure-as-shit isn’t much that I hate more than a Fucking Liar.”

. . . . . .

The lacy doilies sat in a sudsy basin, left forgotten as the two students stood a mere paces from each other—both maintaining an uncomfortably intense eye contact. The sloshing thump of the washers and stirring hum of driers harmonizing were the only song to accompany the two’s stare down. A short hiccup as Mac took a drawn out breath was the only reaction between the two of them. The combined heat of Scarabia’s sun (barely past 10am) and the humidity of continued use of machinery didn’t help the suffocating air in the wide laundry room. Not to mention the loud, stifling silence to boot.

MC usually held back such honest commentary (not that they weren’t blunt) unless Xe deemed it necessary: think high stakes and a sense of urgent drama. But something about Jamil and Kalim’s situation reminded them of himself. The two’s intertwined dance of class, history, loyalty and betrayal, friendship and loss, and such overwhelming guilt reminded the dimension hoping stranger of home. Whatever that meant.

But this was no time to get lost in their own problems and Trauma’s. They’d went too far (again) and that means xey should be the bigger person (again) and deescalate the situation before he hated them (AGAIN). Which means, MC would be the one to break the silence and run away again.

“Ya’ know what? Grim’s probably burned the school down already. Don’t worry about,” Ze gestured blindly to the numerous stations they’d started, “this mess. I’ll rope my little Rat Gremlin and the Freshies into finishing this up. Hell, I could probably convince Rugs to pitch in for lunch or something. Bully the Music Club with helping in exchange of random sheet music I still remember from home.”

Their rambles became more spastic as they noticed Mr. Sugar, Spice and Not-So-Nice break out of his own trance and try to reply. “Seriously! Just enjoy the break… Not that it’s my place or responsibility to be butting in anyway. I will be back in, like, 10 minutes and from here-on-out minding my own damn business. Sorry. Whatever. See you sometime after Sunday, I guess?” Their entire monoluge Mac was slowly backing out of the room before turning around in xeir spot and just short of sprinting their way out of the dorm. A few passerby Scarabia students stopped to eavesdrop on xeir muttering… watch them leave.

Without getting a word in Jamil stood unmoving, watching the Ramshackle Perfect leave swifter than the desert wind shifting the dunes. Almost on auto-pilot, he simply left to go back to his room and do as he was told; enjoy his break. His day off. The day he could do what he liked and didn’t necessarily have to prioritize work. A day he spent working to help and assist the pitiful, magic-less loser that was dropped-kicked into another reality and forced to play nice with a University filled with overpowered and hormonal teenagers while having no way home… And in return was insulted, psychoanalyzed, and thrown aside before he could get a word in edgewise.

“Son of a STREET RAT!!!!!” It was clear he’d need a few hours to calm down before he could even think of trying to enjoy the rest of his Saturday off.

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 4 Satanic Cult

Warning: Heavily inspired by Rosemary's Baby so all the warnings that apply to that apply here (Gaslighting, rape), Reader is AFAB but gender is not mentioned, mentions of menstration and attempts at getting a baby

Also, before I go on, I DO NOT recommend you go through legal channels to watch the movie. As it's made by a known pedo who is still alive and getting money from it, if you must watch the movie, pirate it.

You wake with a gasp again, shaking as memories of the dream fade rapidly from your mind. The new apartment feels cavernous, especially with your boyfriend sleeping in a different sleeping bag from you. There’s no one to hug you, to soothe you and reassure you that everything is okay. Hell, even if your bed had arrived early, he probably would still be snoring, completely ignorant of the terror that is currently running up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you huff, climbing out of your sleeping bag clumsily, toddling toward the bathroom on stiff limbs.

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

The morning of your first true day in your miracle apartment is hectic. Your new apartment is huge, but empty, with wifi and a washer-dryer in it. All of this for $400 a month.

“This is too good to be true,” you repeat as you pull out the dishes you brought, a few of them antiques and a few from your college days.

“C’mon babe,” Brandon, your boyfriend, sighs, “Just accept that we’re getting a break. We’re in New York, I’m at a theatre company, and your writing’s picked up.”

“It’s too good,” you reiterate, separating the plates. Brandon groans and drops his head back, slumped on the couch that arrived at 6 this morning. Apparently, the moving company scrambled to drop your shit off when they heard which building you moved into, which is both great (no more sleeping on the floor!) and terrible (they woke you up and saw you in your shittiest pajamas). You rise slowly, cursing yourself for sitting on the floor again, and pick up the antique plates, moving slowly to put them into the cabinet in the kitchen. Suddenly, a loud knock sounds at your door.

“Babe! Door!” Brandon calls out, still sprawled out on the couch. You huff, idly wondering what you saw in him five years ago, before walking out the kitchen, past the couch, and opening the door. Before you is a group of four men, all of them easily around or over six foot and something in your stomach drops.

“Hullo, sweetheart,” the oldest looking of them greets you, the imperial beard doing nothing to hide his chunky cheeks, “The name’s John Price, and this is my roommate, Simon. We live on your right. These are Kyle and Johnny, on your other side.” You open your mouth, trying to say something, but drawing a blank. There’s something disturbingly familiar about these men, something scratching at the back of your brain.

“Who the fuck are you?” Brandon demands from behind you, startling you out of the spiral John had put you on. The older man’s eyes flash, his blue eyes seeming to change colors, but it’s quick. If you hadn’t been staring, you wouldn’t have noticed, but you didn’t catch the color.

“John Price, one of your neighbors on your right.”

“Whatever,” Brandon scoffs, rolling his eyes and trying to appear bigger. Brandon, who’s 5’6 and 115 pounds soaking wet, against four men who tower over him, “Leave, you limey.”

“Brandon!” you snap, elbowing your asshole of a boyfriend. He winces, but continues to scowl at the men. John frowns, but one of the men behind him chuckles.

“Y’re a lil’ shite. Don’ let tha’ get y’ in trouble,” the man in the balaclava rumbles, something dark rolling underneath his words. Brandon scowls at him while you grab his arm.

“Fuck off,” Brandon snaps, slamming the door closed on the men.

“Brandon!” you hiss again, giving your boyfriend a shake, “What the fuck?!”

“I’m not letting some British assholes take a lookie-loo of my house without permission,” he huffs, making you pause. You hadn’t really noticed, the unreasonable terror in your brain preventing you from seeing it, but the men had been leaning towards you. You thought it might have been to get a look at you, but this is New York. Why look at someone plain like you when they could be scoping out something to steal?

“Still,” you decide to ignore the part of you insisting that they didn’t care about the apartment, “It was rude of you, hun. You’re going to be an actor, you’ve gotta get your temper under control.” Your boyfriend puffs up, a scowl on his face, before completely deflating with a sigh.

“Yeah,” he admits, “It was a shitty thing to do. I didn’t have a good sleep last night, we’ve been moving shit all morning, and I guess I just lashed out due to that.” Immediately, you soften at his tone. This is the man you fell in love with, who can admit when he’s done wrong and work to be better. God knows you love him.

“Alright,” you accept his explanation, “But you owe them an apology.” He nods sheepishly before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“How about, we finish unpacking the kitchen, then we make those cookies that we’re so good at making? Use those to butter up the neighbors for my apology,” he jokes, giving your waist a squeeze before walking past you, to the kitchen.

“You mean the cookies you make sure I don’t burn?” you tease back.

“Hey! I decorate them!”

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

(“Migh’ be a bit ‘arder t’ get Pretty ‘lone, Cap.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can get him to agree with the right bait.”)

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

The next day, you send Brandon off to speak with the neighbors, cookies in hand and a kiss to the cheek, before pulling out your laptop to work a little more on your book. Normally, you’d play music or have an old show on as background noise, but you’re a little worried. What if the neighbors start yelling, or Brandon loses his temper? What if they attack him, or he lashes out for whatever reason? If you were back at your old apartment, you wouldn’t have these worries, with all the old ladies living around you cooing at how cute of a couple you and Brandon are. But, this is New York. The Big City in the United States. You don’t know anything.

You’re pulled from your worries by someone knocking Shave and a Haircut (damn Brandon for teaching that to you) on your door. Standing up, you hurry over and peek out the peephole. Brandon stands before your door, absolutely beaming with an empty tray in hand. You open the door and he steps in.

“They’re great,” he immediately declares when he steps into your apartment.

“Oh?” you intone, more than a little confused at his change in tune about the neighbors. It usually takes him a month or so to get over a bad impression, no matter who caused it. For him to be so happy? They must have said something about his acting career.

“Yeah,” he practically chirps, “Especially Kyle. He went to one of the plays I was actually on stage for, and he remembered me!” You frown, mulling over the three plays Brandon was on stage for. The only major role he played was…

“He saw you as Mercutio? Wasn’t that at an off-Broadway theatre?” you ask.

“Yeah, but it had a Tartuffe before we preformed, then it hosted The Importance of Being Earnest,” he excuses with a wave of your hand. You frown at his flippancy, but sigh and nod. Abruptly, he straightens up and grins, “Oh, and I invited them over for dinner.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

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

(“Pretty’s a loud one.”

“All th’ be’er. A bonnie thin’ wi’ a swee’ scream.”

“English, bruv.”)

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

A Saturday night finds you standing awkwardly in your apartment, glad you managed to talk your boyfriend into changing the dinner to tonight. Unfortunately, that lead to more people being invited, including Farah and Alex, who live across the hall, Ale and Rudy, who are across from John and Simon (the big guy in the balaclava), and finally, Kate and Rosemary, who live across from Johnny and Kyle (an exuberant Scot and the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen).

“So, you write?” Rosemary (“call me Rosy, dear.”) asks politely.

“Yes, ma’am,” you softly admit, flustered and nervous.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of you,” Farah hums as she sips the wine you managed to get (you politely pretend to not notice how she keeps scrunching up her nose. You’ll offer her one of the better seltzers if she asks for a refill), “Something about…”

“Nonfiction, Darling,” Alex reminds her, “They wrote about the more recent studies into cults and demonology, as well as covering the Satanic Panic of the ‘80’s.”

“Yeah, I did,” you admit, surprised at the fact he even knew. Your book was well-received, but ultimately, it wasn’t a steamy romance between a non-binary artist and their vampiric muse, so it went largely ignored. Alex grins as Farah snaps her fingers.

“That’s it,” she agrees, “You mentioned how a number of horror movies and thrillers of the time help show just what people were afraid of.”

“Ah? Uh, yeah,” you agree, confused at that. While you had spent a page talking about that, the majority of your book had focused more on news articles and stories that were either proven false or used as a cover for something more sinister.

“The Lost Boys, They Live and The Howling. I think those were the movies you mentioned,” Farah continues with a hum.

“Well, yeah,” you admit, “Mostly because of the heavy lean of conspiracy and the manipulation of innocence.”

“You also mentioned a number of movies that use demons and demonic summonings, like Evil Dead and Pumpkinhead,” Alex pipes in, practically melting when Farah patted his cheek.

“Of course,” you acknowledge, “They helped prove exactly what many news sources at the time were claiming as occurring around the country. Especially with Hellraiser, summoning demons for pleasure was a widely used excuse for children being hurt.”

“How long did this research take?” Rosemary asks, tilting her head curiously.

“Um, about two years,” you confess, “Luckily, most of the newspapers and stories made it to archives that was able to upload them to databases when using computers became commonplace.”

“Neat,” Alex chirps, swiping Farah’s half full glass to trade with his empty beer bottle. The look of betrayal on Farah’s face makes you laugh at their shenanigans.

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

(“At’s nae fair. Lookit how pretty they ur when they laugh.”

“It’s Farah an’ Alex. They’ve always been good at gettin’ people t’ relax. Makes sense they can do it with Pretty.”

“You see who’s not lookin’ at Pretty?”

“Th’ lil’ shite ‘o’s ‘pose t’ be their boy? Yeah, clocked it.”

“Might need t’ give Kate some money for Rosemary to seduce ‘im?”

“Or get one ‘o th’ birds at th’ corner t’ do it.”)

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

A month passes, and you slowly relax around your neighbors. Farah and Rosemary invited you to a book club, often arguing good naturedly about male writers and how they write female characters. Kate and Alex have taken to walking you through understanding sports, while Johnny (“Call me Soap, bonnie!”) will add random tidbits that usually make you look at him in confusion. Kyle, John, and Simon talk to you about all sorts of random things, usually true crime, classic literature, and cooking respectively. Through this all, Brandon’s career seems to be getting better, with him being understudy to bigger parts or acting in decently important minor roles. The downside is that he’s not home nearly as often, leaving you somewhat lonely and lost.

“So, I was thinking,” he starts one morning, when his most recent play wrapped up, “Do you want a baby?”

“What?” you ask around a mouthful of breakfast.

“A baby,” he repeats, “Like, I know we’re still not sure about marrying, but you said when we got together that you wouldn’t mind a baby out of wedlock. A bit out of order, sure, but you seem lonely.”

“And you think a baby will fix that,” you intone. Brandon nods sheepishly, recognizing your tone. Taking a breath, you rub at your eyes, explaining, “Hun, we shouldn’t have a baby just because I’m lonely when you’re working.”

“I know,” he agrees earnestly, “But, it would also be a symbol of love. And you’ve said you wanted one.” Brandon takes a bite of his own breakfast and says, “Just think about it. Okay, sweetheart?”

“…Fine,” you sigh, smiling when he grins at you before seeming to realize he’s got a mouthful of food and scrambles to cover his mouth. Laughing, you stand and drop the dishes into the dishwasher, leaning down to press a kiss to Brandon’s head.

Through the next week, you mull it over. Having a baby is a big commitment, one that Brandon’s shown he can make and one you know you want to make. Just, the thought of a little one, who is half you and half the man you love. It fills you with warmth and adoration, picturing a little boy with Brandon’s big green eyes, or a little girl with your nose. Maybe a little one who laughs like Brandon and smiles like you.

“Okay,” you say to Brandon one night, startling him from his phone.

“Okay?” he repeats, confused.

“Okay,” you repeat, “Let’s make a baby.” He blinks at you before beaming brightly, rolling on top of you and peppering your face with kisses.

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

(“Pretty’s ready. Just gotta pick a night.”

“Bin payin’ ‘tention t’ their monthly. Shuid be a week oot from noo.”

“Good work.”)

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

You and Brandon work together to calculate when you are most fertile. It took a bit, as you refuse to use those menstrual apps, knowing just what they’re actually used for, but you managed to narrow it down to three days.

“We can still practice,” he had joked and you laughed, bumping your shoulder against his own. Now, however, you aren’t laughing.

“John? What are you doing here?” you ask, looking between your neighbor and Brandon in confusion. The older man gives you a smile while your boyfriend gives you a sheepish grin.

“Oh, just giving a trade,” he explains, handing over a can of irn-bru with a grin, “We never got to thank you for the cookies all that time ago. Figured we can finally give you something in return, thanks to Soap’s mum sending us a crate of th’ stuff.”

“Thanks,” you say, taking a sip of the opened can. John’s smile seems to grow while Brandon’s face flickers. You furrow your brow, looking up at them in confusion again, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Brandon immediately insists, “Nothing’s wrong.” You hum and take another sip of the soda. The three of you stand there and talk for a bit, although something starts to feel off. You blink rapidly, fighting off the woozy feeling that seems to be threatening to overwhelm you.

“I- I think I need to go lie down,” you mumble, stumbling over to the bedroom, not even taking the time to tell John and Brandon good night as you practically fall onto the bed.

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

At one point, you open your eyes to see that you are surrounded by your neighbors. All of them are naked and chanting, with John between your legs. His eyes flash red, before he steps back, leaving a beast in the spot he was standing in. Everything is sluggish and dreamlike, even as the creature crawls over you, drooling and growling as something tries to press into you. You try to struggle, your terror sharp despite the lethargy that grips your body. It’s useless, and the beast pushes in. The pain is unbearable and darkness takes you once more.

(“Is my part of the deal done?” Brandon asks when it’s all over. Price scoffs at the little coward that hid in the living room while the ritual commenced, feeling His Lord chuckle at the selfishness of men.

“‘Course,” Price agrees easily as Farah and Alex redress quickly, the couple always a little shyer than the rest, “Now, your acting career is secured. If you want to go higher up the rungs, that’s on you.”

“That’s all I need,” the idiot insists, oblivious of his own inadequacy. Price looks over at Ghost and nods. It’s time to get Pretty away from the shitstain who sold them to His Lord. Ghost nods in return and disappears out the door, not even stopping to pull on a robe. Price huffs in amusement, and starts making plans for the nursery for His Lord’s heir. After all, you will need all the support after your baby’s “father” cheats on you, and they want to support you, even beyond the birth of His Lord’s heir.)

[d1gnan]

I absolutely love the jewelry you make and I’ve been saving to buy some of your bracelets for a little while now.

I hope this isn’t bothering you or anything right now but I wanna ask if you have any tips when it comes to outsourcing beads, chains, and charms etc. I really admire how a lot of the items you use to make to make your stuff is like thrifted and upcycled. Unfortunately none of this yard sale stuff is near me so I’m wondering if you know any alternative ways to get similar styled beads/charms that you have. Or just general tips like what tools you use to make jewelry and what the process is like for you.

Again, sorry if this is too much! I’ve just been so inspired by your lovely work it’s motivating me to make my own little trinkets recently. Lots of love <3

HELLO thank u so much for this sweet message❤️🍀🐬

its an honor to be a source of inspiration for u i really appreciate u taking the time to reach out.

as far as my process + sourcing my best advice is to ALWAYS keep your eyes peeled. anything and everything has potential

i will say tho if youre striking out at places local to U, ebay and mercari are good online sources. be imaginative with your searches , some of my fav search terms r

- keychains - metal scrap/key lots - crackerjack / vintage prize charms - deadstock costume jewelry lot - watch faces - drilled dice

ask your friends if theyre getting rid of jewelry, ask your grandparents if u can go thru their junk drawer, let people know about ur mission to repurpose shit and most of the time they'll want to be included. lowkey people just bring stuff to me at this point

also, antique malls and Estate sales!!! estate sales are where ive found a TON of my beads, you can find estate sales on craigslist and u can specify in the search that you're looking for old jewelry.

also, i would invest in a dremel if you don't have one. obv b careful cuz its a power tool but its come in handy for me so many times to turn random shit into beads, for example i drilled all the dice for my the strokes inspired jewelry myself

last idea is u can also get metal stamping supplies for pretty cheap. then any random piece of metal can become a charm, i got a whole tub of washers and dog tags for free cuz i asked about it that ive been 4 stamping lyrics/words into

hope this helps u . thanks for the luv 💚☮️

[platybelle]

Picked up this vintage Remington fountain pen for $10 at an antique store today.

I'm going to have to figure out how to clean it and repair the filling system, which I believe was a very cheap syringe filler. I'm pretty sure it's at least missing a washer/o-ring on the plunger part, but I'm not sure if that's the only part missing. I couldnt find much information online.

Anyway, I'll give it a go to see if I can get it working.

[stayholidayrentals]

Embark on a journey through this quaint, newly renovated apartment in Lombardy! Adorned with precious antiques and modern comforts such as washer, dishwasher, Smart TV, and AC. Perfect for a family-friendly vacation! #HolidayRental #FamilyVacation #StayHolidayRentals https://bit.ly/49P1Wmq

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

i know it doesn’t make any fucking sense bc i am well known to haunt a thrift store and an antique store and an estate sale and a craigslist but i fucking hate shopping for things. looking at things, recreationally, at any of the above four types of locations is low to no stress bc i don’t typically go into a thrift store looking specifically for one item. thrift stores are great sources of decorative objects and semi-consumable housewares like glassware that will eventually break/wear out. and like if a fun strawberry woven throw presents itself, well! can always use another blanket! if a duet of lovely cast iron presents itself, well! i suppose i was looking to upgrade my pans anyway!

if i am Shopping for a Specific Item (kitchen knives, washer/dryer combo, couch, indian cotton block print sheet/bedspread in warm colors with an interesting non-floral print) i have a long list of needed specs and research notes and reviews and seventy tabs open. dreadful! stressful! not recreational! the goal is to buy something once and then never fucking think about it again so i never have to do this shopping process again! i have looked at so many block print bedspreads in the past hour and all the vibes are wrong! i want something Exactly like my old bedspread but VERY Slightly Different!!! how DARE things wear out!!!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Oh, I love her! Too cute, tiny 1930 hacienda in Spokane, WA has 1bd, 1ba, 486 sq ft, $270K. I would move right in, if WA wasn't clear across the country from me.

Surrounded by a wall and fence, it's like your own private little fortress.

Isn't this sweet? A little sitting area in front of the wood stove. They have a table for 4 made out of an antique sewing machine base, for dining, in front of the kitchen, and there's room for 2 larger chairs on the side.

Look at the details, like the little niche in the wall.

Cute little kitchen and I like the stairs going up to the sleep loft. I would probably reconfigure the kitchen- at least get an island with a counter and some storage.

The kitchen could use a nice Mexican tile backsplash and a small exhaust hood over the stove.

Under the sleep loft there's a bath and some shelving.

Is that a washer/dryer?

Very nice shower.

View of the sleep loft.

I don't think that I would use the loft- Where the armoire is, I think that I would put a Murphy bed and move the love seat over.

Then, I would remove that built-in bench and put an armoire next to the window, b/c there are no closets. Maybe, I would even remove the shelving and make a closet there, too. I would reconfigure it all.

A nice outbuilding. Was this a chicken coop?

Inside it's a great storage shed.

The yard is pretty.

So, when I saw all of this firewood, I went back to see if the wood stove is the only heating source, but it's not. There's a gas furnace.

Look at the nice covered patio.

There is quite a large front yard that has potential.

The corner lot measures 6,098 sq ft.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4128-N-Monroe-St-Spokane-WA-99205/89446486_zpid/

[cosmicanger]

Ishi Glinsky, Giant Breastplate, 2009, Found antiqued chain link, hand sculpted PVC pipes, brass pipe, hand painted washers, skeleton keys, skateboard wheels, 158” x 78”