#magazine street antiques

[labellenouvelle]

SPANISH GOTHIC CHANDELIER

A 1940s Spanish Gothic wrought iron 5 light chandelier , ready to hang in your own castle.  Great size and design. Fantastic split tongue details and chains.

Item No. E566 

Dimensions. 26″ across x 5ft high including top chain and ceiling canopy. 3ft high chandelier only

SOLD

504.581.3733 / t

info@labellenouvelle.com / e

[amalemily]

Vintage heart antique soul

[mia-seth-adventures]

[ju1cyfru1t]

the hourglass ⏳ (rise! leo x reader)

prologue

pt.1

rottmnt x reader (Leo centered)

gn reader, platonic???, arguing, leo being stupid 🤞

takes place in the turtles finding mystic metal era 🤭

Today had just not been your day at all. From the moment you woke up, everything was going wrong.

You woke up late because you had stayed up last night to study for a math test, April was sick so you were alone in most of your classes, and you had so much homework to do tonight. You know when you’re having a bad day and all the little things just seem to add up? It was one of those situations.

Now you’re walking home through the busy, noisy New York streets, absolutely exhausted but you knew you weren’t going to get to rest anytime soon.

That’s when it caught your eye in the window of an old, run down antique shop; an hourglass filled with pink sand a golden frame. It had a glow to it, willing you to go into the shop and look at it. There was just something about it…

You picked it up and observed every detail, turning it over. That’s when you saw the small piece of mystic metal wedged into the base. You knew you couldn’t just rip it out or you would damage it. Ugh.

You whipped out your phone, listening to it ring a few times.

“You’ve got Donatello.”

“Hey, Donnie,” you looked around to make sure you were alone except for the small old woman behind the counter but she was deep into a magazine, “listen, I’m at this crusty antique shop and I think I found a piece of mystic metal.”

“Perfect! Great!...What’s the catch?”

“Uh…Well, it’s wedged into the bottom of this hourglass.” You sighed.

“Hourglass?...Hm, just bring it by and I will extract it.”

“What? But I’d have to buy it and it’s…” You searched for a price tag, “Oh my god, it’s 20 dollars!”

Donnie laughed on the other side of the phone, “Don’t even worry about it! I’ll reimburse you…Maybe.”

Oh, the things you do for them. You thought for a second and took a deep breath, “Ok, fine. But you owe me…See you soon.”

The old woman set down her magazine as you placed the hourglass on the counter and digged through your wallet, praying you had enough to buy it.

“Alluring, isn’t it?” She smiled at you with a wink. You had a bad feeling about this.

“Oh, yeah…Haha.” You laughed awkwardly.

You looked very awkward as you carried your newly-owned, oversized hourglass down the sidewalk and you were definitely getting some weird looks. Hey, it’s New York City, right? Surely, they’ve seen weirder things anyway. I mean, you certainly have.

The worst part of visiting your mutant friends is having to crawl down into the sewer and hoping to god no one saw you. But…I guess if it would help them then it’s fine. They definitely owe you though.

You didn’t even bother to knock and just let yourself into their underground lair, which both you and them were used to by now. You looked around, but you didn’t see any of them around. Alright, guess you’ll just head up to Donnie’s lab and see if he’s there. Honestly, you just wanted to get this over with and go home. You loved visiting them, of course, but you were undeniably overwhelmed and not in a good mood at all.

“Whatcha got there?” You jumped and swiftly turned to face Leonardo who had a curious expression.

You sighed in relief, “It’s just you.”

“What is that?” He snatched the hourglass from your hands.

“Hey!” You reached to grab it back, but he moved it out of your reach, “Be careful, Leo. That’s not a toy!”

Leo smirked at you, raising an eyebrow (that he doesn’t have but you know what I mean), “Uh huh, I’m very careful, trust me.” He tossed the hourglass from hand to hand, observing it like you had in the shop.

“I’m serious, Leo, it’s fragile. Just give it back, ok? it’s got a shard of that metal you guys need in it and I need to give it to Donnie.” You groaned in annoyance.

“Come on, lighten up!” Leo scoffed, “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”

“Sorry,” you breathed out, “I just…Had a rough day at school.”

There was silence for a moment before Leo burst out laughing, “Seriously? School? Rough? Yeah, ok.”

“What?” You narrowed you eyes at him, confused. What the hell was he laughing at?

“I’m just saying…What’s so rough about it? You go to school, you learn or whatever, you go home. Seems pretty easy if you ask.” Leo snickered.

Now it was your turn to scoff, “And how would you know, Leon? It’s so much more than that. I mean, it’s so socially draining! All the work at school, and then the homework when you get home. It is hard. I don’t get to just relax all day like you. And put down the damn hourglass before you break it!”

“Woah, woah, woah! Protecting the city don’t just happen on it’s own, you know. I train super hard, I wouldn’t have time for pointless schoolwork. I just don’t see what’s so important about it. You act like school is all that matters to you” Leo’s smug smile faded and he shrugged, still carelessly playing with the hourglass.

“It’s not that easy! I have to care. I mean…God, you couldn’t walk a day in my shoes.”

“Oh, yeah? I’d love to see you walk a mile as a hero.” Leo challenged, smirking.

“If you knew what I go through and how hellishly unfair it is for you to even say that! Put that down!” You grabbed the other handle of the hourglass, trying to yank it away only for Leo to yank right back and leaving you in a tug-of-war.

“Puh-lease! I’d love to be in school all day without a care in the world besides some homework!” Leo’s smile turned into an annoyed, offended look.

“If you only saw the world my way for one day.” You laughed in disbelief at his dismissive, arrogant attitude, “Let go!” You pulled harder at your side of the hourglass, closing your eyes tightly.

A bright pink light filled the room and there was a buzzing sound, but you both were too angry to pay much mind before it faded away.

The hourglass hit the floor, but the glass didn’t shatter. The only part that broke was the small shard of glowing mystic metal, it fell out onto the floor with a small clink.

“Look what you did! I swear you act like such a child!” You groaned, looking back up and seeing…yourself?

“Oh, really, Y/N? I’m a…” Leo looked up and saw…himself?

You both rubbed your eyes and looked back up, blinking a few times, but you were seeing correctly. Whether you believed it or not, you had switched bodies and were staring back at yourselves.

“WHAT THE FU-”

[persevereforahappyending]

Maybe in Another Life |9|

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hunter of Artemis!Reader

Summary: You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her.

Warnings: Slight Titans Curse Spoilers

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8 | ch. 9 | ch. 10 | ch. 11 | ch. 12 | ch. 13 | ch. 14 | ch. 15 | ch. 16 | ch. 17

You and your sisters packed up camp, it had been about a week, and you had travelled all the way back to New York. You talked to Clarisse the night before she left on her scouting mission but hadn’t heard a word from her since. You and the Hunters got information about Luke or one of his lackeys in the area and made your way back to the city but came up with nothing, no trace of Luke, demigods, or monsters in general.

“You’re not coming with us,” Thalia said, as you finished packing up your bag.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brow.

“We’re close to the city.” You followed her gaze; from the spot you made camp you could see the New York skyline. “We might as well do a supply run.”

You sighed but nodded, it made a sense, for all you knew you’d end up out in the middle of nowhere next. “Where should I meet you?”

Thalia gave you the area they’d most likely be making camp next. It would take you a couple hours to get the supplies you’d need but you shouldn’t have a problem catching up to them by the time they were all settling down for bed. If they made it further or if anything changed their plans in any way Thalia would send a message letting you know. With that you were off, making your way to the city.

It wasn’t a long trek to the city and luckily you blended in, the mist made your pack look like a normal backpack, which many of the commuters were carrying. You had been to the city many times, but you never got over all the lights and amount of people, you only ever came for errands, otherwise you spent most of your time on the outskirts of cities, away from civilization.

You entered a shop that stood out against all the skyscrapers and neon signs. To anyone who couldn’t see through the mist it looked like a normal antique shop but to a demigod or anyone else of your world, you knew what it really was. You approached the counter, smiling at the nymph behind the register.

“How can I help you?” The nymph asked, without looking up from the magazine. You sighed before dropping down a sack of gold drachmas. The nymph glanced at the sack before setting down her magazine and straightening her back. “Ooh a Hunter,” she smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nectar and ambrosia,” you said, smiling.

“Coming right up.”

You waited as the nymph disappeared into the back to gather what you asked for. Nectar and ambrosia were a rare commodity, but there were a few shops a wandering demigod could get it from if they knew where to look. You had been to this shop in particular many times, almost every trip to the city. You weren’t sure how they got what they did but given they were located in the city that had the door to Olympus you were sure they had connections of some sort. They never failed to have what you needed, whether it be celestial bronze weapons, nectar, ambrosia, or other various potions and items from your world.

You glanced out the window during your waiting, furrowing your brow when you saw a familiar head of hair walking down the street. You got closer, squinting through the window and across the street as best as you could, a small smirk appearing on your face when you confirmed what you thought you saw, Clarisse. She was on a secret mission no one was allowed to know about, you were gathering supplies and needed to get back to your sisters, but there was no reason you couldn’t pop over and say hi. You watched as she turned down an ally next to the hotel across the street.

“Here you are sweetly,” the nymph said, placing a lovely little box of ambrosia and a jar of nectar down on the counter.

You turned your attention back to the nymph, opening the box to look at the ambrosia. The ambrosia was cut into little squares, perfectly placed, and stacked in the box, not leaving an inch of empty space. “Thank you,” you said, offering the nymph a kind smile. You carefully slipped the items into your pack and made your way out the door.

You glanced both ways before darting across the street. You peered down the alley way you saw Clarisse disappear down, seeing her still in the alley, pacing back and forth and staring at a wall. You smirked as you slipped into the alley as well, silently laughing as you watched her feel around the brick wall as if she were looking for something.

“So, this is your super-secret mission,” you said when you were right behind her.

Clarisse whipped around, pointing her spear at your neck. You leaned your head back, looking down at the spear before raising an eyebrow at her. Clarisse sighed, then dropped the spear back at her side. “What are you doing here?” She asked.

“Wow, here I thought you’d be happy to see me,” you fake pouted. She only glared at you. “I was resupplying,” you sighed. “We were back over this way because we got word Luke was around but no sign of him anywhere.” Clarisse’s eyes widened at the mention of Luke. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Do you know something?” You tilted your head, crossing your arms. “Is that what your mission had to do with?”

“The less people that know the better,” she whispered. “We don’t know who to trust.”

“You don’t trust me?” You looked at her like a kicked puppy. You understood logically that they needed to be careful about who they shared information with, but you couldn’t ignore the pang you felt in your chest at the implication of Clarisse not trusting you.

“I do,” she sighed, running a hand down her face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this she mumbled.” You furrowed your brow but before you could question her, she stepped forward. “I’m looking for an entrance to the labyrinth,” she whispered in your ear.

Your eyes widened. “Are you insane?” You stepped back.

“Annabeth says there’s multiple entrances all over the world. She thinks one might be in Camp Half-Blood.”

“Why?” The labyrinth stretched all across the country, if you went in one door there was no guarantee what door you’d come out of, if you came out at all. It made perfect sense for an entrance to be at the camp though.

“We think Luke is trying to use the labyrinth to get around.” You sucked in a breath, which could explain why he disappeared so quickly in some places and now he left no trace. “We think he’s trying to learn how to navigate it so he can sneak into camp.”

You nodded; you were liking Clarisse’s secret mission even less now. If Clarisse happened to find an entrance and entered the labyrinth, there was not telling if or when she’d make it back out. You hadn’t ever been in it, you only heard the stories over the centuries, none of them ended well, people went mad, people ended up lost, or dead. The labyrinth constantly changed and shifted, redirecting you to your demise, time was rumored to move differently down there, five minutes could be five hours or even days on the outside. There were endless passageways and rooms, the majority of them led from one horror to another.

“You think ones here?” You asked, looking up at the side of the hotel, Clarisse had been poking around.

She shrugged. “Don’t know,” she sighed. “Based on Annabeth’s research one is supposed to be in the city, it’s heavily implied to be in a hotel. It just didn’t mention which hotel or where.”

“Did you check inside?” You already started walking around to the front of the hotel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She ran after you.

“Helping.”

“I don’t need your help.” She continued to follow you through the fancy doors of the hotel. “This is my mission. I’m supposed to do it alone.”

“I’m not here to look over your shoulder,” you sighed, turning around to face her. “Or takeover your mission. I’m just…” you shrugged. “Here, and have some time before I have to head back. If you don’t want me around, I can leave.”

Clarisse looked down at the floor clearly having a serious debate with herself before she looked back up at you. “No,” she mumbled. “If this is the only way to spend time with you, I’m not passing it up.”

You smirked at her. Your smirk quickly turned into a frown when you noticed the concierge looking at you questioningly. “We have to go,” you grabbed Clarisse by the arm and quickly dragged her towards the elevators.

You pressed the button and quickly pulled her into the elevator when it arrived. You were grateful that no one else was in it or had been waiting. The doors closed right as the concierge approached, his mouth opening to question you.

“I know you’ve probably never been to a place like this,” Clarisse took a jab at you. You glared at her but didn’t deny it, it was true you had never been in a hotel before, you just knew of them from all your trips to the city. “But we need a key to use this.”

You look at the various buttons on the side panel, there were over fifteen floors in this building. “Not if we go down,” you said, pressing the button that said ground and had a little ‘associates only’ sticker next to it.

“Why are we going down?”

“Well, the labyrinth is an underground maze.” When the elevator doors opened you peeked your head out making sure the way was clear, then motioned for Clarisse to follow. “So, it makes sense that the entrance would be underground.”

You slowly made your way through the hallway, the two of you pressing yourself up against the wall when you heard someone pushing a cart of some sort. When it sounded like the cart was getting further away you peeked around the corner to see a maid pushing a basket of dirty towels in the opposite direction.

“And how would we know which way to go?” Clarisse asked as the two of you continued to move through the halls.

“The camp is protected, a boundary that doesn’t allow monsters to pass through,” you whispered. “The labyrinth was designed by a god; it radiates magic which monsters can’t help but navigate to.”

“We’re wandering around, hoping to spot a monster, to help point us in the direction of the door?” She raised an eyebrow. You shrugged, giving her a nod, you would admit it wasn’t the best plan in the world. “That’s a terrible plan!” She whisper shouted as if she could read your mind.

You started to roll your eyes as you rounded the corner only to stop dead in your tracks, making Clarisse bump into you. “What’s wrong with you?” she snapped, flicking you a glare. You pointed ahead, she turned to see the maid from earlier was standing in the middle of the hallway, staring daggers at the two of you.

“Sorry,” Clarisse said, forcing a smile. “We got lost, we were looking for the pool?”

The maid continued to stare at the two of you. You slid your foot back, bumping into Clarisse again. “Something isn’t right,” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at the maid.

The next thing you knew the maids neck snapped to the side, then her legs twisted in an inhuman direction, her arms following soon after. You pushed Clarisse back, trying to get her to move. Your eyes widened as the skin began to melt away, steam rolling off the monster as the creature shed its disguise.

“Run!” You shouted. You pushed Clarisse back down the hall, grabbing the nearest cart and pushing it into the path of the monster.

“We can take that thing!” Clarisse shouted, trying to look back and face the monster.

“Not if that stinger hits us!” You glanced back seeing the monster looked like a giant scorpion, its stinger a glowing golden yellow as it was filled with venom. You might have had ambrosia and nectar on you, but it wouldn’t help for a wound from the stinger.

The scorpion quickly crawled over the cart you had shoved in its way. It was close enough that when it stabbed its stinger you had to duck, watching as the stinger got stuck in the wall, causing cracks throughout the concrete. It let out a high pitch squeal in anger as it ripped its stinger out of the wall, along with a few chunks of concrete.

You spun around, quickly whipping out your bow, and shooting an arrow into the monster’s eye. The creature squeezed again, then raised its pincer and snapped the arrow in half, leaving the tip still in its eye. It brought down its stinger towards you, causing you to jump back before you could get another arrow off. With its stinger impaled in the ground now you pushed Clarisse to continue forward.

After running for another moment down the hall you glanced back, seeing the scorpion nowhere in sight. You didn’t have to consider where it could have gone before taking the next turn down another hall. You and Clarisse took the turn at full speed, turning right into the scorpion.

You ducked just as it swung its pincer at you. You saw Clarisse holding up her spear, using it to keep the other pincer from getting her. You drew your bow again, your fingers brushing against your arrows before finding the one you wanted. You quickly notched the arrow and fired. It opened midair, releasing a net that latched around the stinger.

While it released Clarisse’s spear to cut itself free the two of you took off down the hall you had just come from. The two of you continued running, taking turn after turn, all the similar looking hallways starting to blur together. You had just made another turn, once again running into the scorpion. This time as it shot its stinger at you, Clarisse gripped your arm and pulled you into the nearest room. The two of you fell back into the storage closet, the door slamming behind your right as the stinger was impaled into the wood instead of your chest.

You held your breath as you stared at the crack in the door, waiting for the scorpion to mark its next move. When nothing came and you realized it was completely silent outside the door you finally released a shaky breath. You pushed yourself off the ground, holding out your hand to help Clarisse up. You kept your eye on the door, not trusting that the monster was truly gone.

“Where the hell are we?” Clarisse asked.

You turned around, your brow furrowed but your eyes quickly widened at the sight. “What the…” you started, unable to finish your sentence. You weren’t in a storage closet at all, or any room for that matter, you were in a dimly lit hallway. The hallway was all dirt and stone, a couple torches lining the walls were the only thing lighting the tunnel. You narrowed your eyes when you realized it wasn’t just normal fire on the torches but Greek fire.

“Oh gods,” you whispered before turning back around. You ran your hands up and down where the door had been, searching for a handle of some sort but only feeling the cold stone the rest of the hallway was made out of.

“What?” Clarisse asked. “What’s wrong?” She searched your concerned face.

You turned to her, your eyes wide and face pale. “We found the labyrinth.”

Clarisse’s face fell at your words, her eyes widening as she quickly spun around again. You watched the color drain from her face as she realized the situation the two of you were in. You sighed, you and Clarisse were in the labyrinth and the door you entered through had disappeared meaning the only way out was forward through the maze that was always changing, filled with monsters and traps that wanted to kill you at every turn. At least the two of you had each other, you couldn’t imagine having to navigate the maze on your own.

Taglist: @cxcilla @touchmyfracturedomens @luclue @manu-007s-world @death-in-love @nenas19 @mynameiskaci @danonered

[hoperays-song]

Named Businesses/Brands in the Sing Franchise: Sing 2

In a recent rewatch of the movies, I tried to find all the named businesses and brands that are in the movies for world building sake (minus bands and entertainment acts cause thats a different list). So here is, in semi chronological order, all the ones that appear in the second movie! There should be minimal overlap between the lists as I only included old ones if we learned new info. Anyways, I'll try to finish the shorts soon!

-------

New Moon Theatre - The new rebranding of the old Moon Theatre, including a name change!

Dusty’s - I did mention it last time but the color scheme has now changed from orange to green.

Sun’s Up! FM - A radio station seen on a billboard when Suki is in taxi. Also seen advertising on Redshore’s main strip.

Drama Club - An organization advertising on the street the taxi drives down.

Canal Promenade - The riverwalk and canal area that Buster falls into.

Antiques -  A business along the Canal Promenade.

Laundry Service - A business along the Canal Promenade. Funnily enough, it is also seen later advertising in Vacation Newspaper.

Gophers & Associates - A law or real estate group advertising along the Canal Promenade.

Tanning Lotion - A product advertising along the Canal Promenade. Also seen advertising on Redshore’s main strip.

Lounge - An establishment along the Canal Promenade.

Bee Rich - The magazine Eddie was featured on on Buster’s coffee table. I'm not kidding, that's the name.

Rick’s Club - The club Ash performed at.

Pop Soda - Also has returned but now we know it has a lime flavour! That’s my second favourite soda flavor so it gets a shoutout. 

Stage Left - A brand of storage for stage props and band equipment we see at Rick’s. We later see it at Crystal Theatre.

Safe Travels LTD - A travel company seen advertising behind the Canal Promenade and the Bus Station. It is then seen throughout Redshore.

Redshore City Bus - A bus line that seems to run from Calatonia to Redshore, though it is likely to have lines to other major cities nearby.

Critter Deli - A deli in front of the Bus Station.

Ginny’s Chips - A type of chips shaped like smiley faces.

Chips Potato - A type of chips in Mrs. Crawly’s supply box.

Babilonia - A hotel/casino on Redshore’s main strip.

Catty’s Bar - A bar on Redshore’s main strip.

Zeus - A hotel/casino on Redshore’s main strip.

PawJack - A hotel/casino on the Redshore strip,  it has several advertising billboards.

Raincow - A hotel/casino on the Redshore strip, it has several advertising billboards.

Atlas -  A hotel/casino on the Redshore strip, it has several advertising billboards.

Sand-Witches - A sandwich chain advertising on the Raincow billboards.

FireRock - A hotel/casino on the Redshore strip,  it has several advertising billboards.

Soda - A drink that has a new lime hibiscus flavour that was advertising on Raincow’s billboard.

Eclips Gagaming - A business on the Crystal Square bus stop, seemingly an arcade of sorts. 

O4A Fashion - A fashion brand advertising on a billboard next to a Loopee sign.

Karaoke Party Club - A business on the Crystal Square bus stop.

Money Exchange - A business on the Crystal Square bus stop.

Dony’s - A business on the Crystal Square bus stop seemingly associated with the Atlas casino/hotel.

KeyLight - A business on the Crystal Square bus stop seemingly associated with with the Atlas casino/hotel.

PNJ Agency - Another building behind Crystal Tower.

Crystal Entertainment - The entertainment company owned by Jimmy Crystal.

Crystal Tower - The seemingly main offices of Crystal Entertainment.

Mist - A cleaning product seen in the supply closet the troupe hides in.

bog - Another building behind Crystal Tower.

Hot News - A news station heavily focusing on gossip and celebrity culture owned by Crystal Entertainment.

Crystal Tower Hotel - A luxury hotel heavily featuring an indoor water park along with several restaurants and stores that is owned by Crystal Entertainment.

Ice Cream Paradise - An ice cream store in Crystal Hotel’s main lobby.

Donuts - A donuts and pastry shop inside Crystal Hotel’s main lobby.

Cherry Blossom - An establishment inside Crystal Hotel’s main lobby.

Tea Salon - Seemingly a tea parlor and spa in Crystal Hotel’s main lobby.

Crystal Tower Theatre - The theatre that is within Crystal Tower Hotel. It has a minimum of six stages. Out of this world was located on said sixth stage.

Lift-Bub - A construction equipment brand used by Crystal Theatre.

Redshore News - A newspaper used during the hunt for Clay Calloway.

Rock News - A newspaper used during the hunt for Clay Calloway.

Facilisi - A fashion magazine displayed in the costume and design studio.

Scene - A fashion magazine displayed in the costume and design studio.

Cars - A newspaper the tech crew frog is reading during rehearsal that is entirely about cars.

Vacation -  A newspaper the tech crew frog is reading during rehearsal that is entirely about vacations and only costs a dollar a year to get. Guys, this dude is like constantly reading these. I’m starting to think he doesn’t like his job.

Sylvia’s Bakery - A cake and coffee shop advertising in Vacation Newspaper.

Air Sun One - A airline advertising in Vacation Newspaper

Marock - A music store near the Crystal Hotel.

Eclips - A hotel/casino near the Crystal Hotel.

Newshore - A hotel/casino near the Crystal Hotel.

TV underdog - A TV studio near the Crystal Hotel.

Royalty Rental Cars - The rental place Mrs. Crawly got the red car from that specializes in luxury vehicles.

Loopee - The shop where Johnny buys his new skateboard, though we also see it advertise on the main strip as well.

StarTV Channel - A tv channel seemingly about celebrities that is advertising in the square where Nooshy is performing.

Digital Seeds - A company/brand that is advertising in the square where Nooshy is performing.

Canyon Cafe - The cafe that Johnny and Nooshy got to to discuss the training contract. It has a vintage western style.

Lunch Paris - A brand on one of Porsha’s shopping bags.

Alfonso’s Ice Cream - Alfonso’s ice cream truck that he has seemingly been running since he was a kid, which is super cool cause I knew a kid to do the same thing.

Raadio - The brand of speaker that Nooshy has.

Fruity Juicy - The food truck behind Alfonso’s that serves smoothies.

Sweet Jazz Cafe - A cafe near Crystal Hotel.

Community Food Service - The organization that the gang are working with during their parole.

Lantani Car Rental - A rental spot right across from the garage. 

WOAW - A brand that Porsha has a shopping bag for in her bedroom.

Flowers - An establishment along the road Jimmy is driven down to get to the theatre.

Orion - An establishment along the road Jimmy is driven down to get to the theatre.

Deckard Inc - An establishment along the road Jimmy is driven down to get to the theatre.

Beckaro’n Hotel - An establishment along the road Jimmy is driven down to get to the theatre.

Xendary - An establishment along the road Jimmy is driven down to get to the theatre.

Boom Vinyl Records - A records store right behind the Crystal Square bus stop.

Tattoo Shop - An establishment advertising on a billboard seen along Redshore’s main strip.

XEND - An establishment seen along Redshore’s main strip.

The Majestic Palace Theatre - Apparently a famous theatre and hotel combo, commonly shortened to ‘The Majestic’.

The Majestic Palace - The hotel side of the Majestic Palace Theatre.

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

May (pt. 18)

previous part 🧡 next part masterlist

Rolling Stone Magazine

Keely Halloran is unapologetic. That much is for certain.

Ever since her return to the music scene, Halloran has been upfront about exactly who she is. “It’s honorable,” says Sabrina Carpenter, who has been friends with Halloran for year, back when Halloran was still known as the ‘Pop Princess.’ “Every musician is – at some point – told that you need to enhance certain aspects of yourself while dimming others to make yourself marketable. But Keely rebelled against that idea and she’s successful as ever. I think we could all learn from her.”

But in this, the first interview the rockstar has given since the release of her fourth studio album VINDICTIVE, Halloran reveals a different side to her, confessing that the bravado that many found so admirable may have its downsides.

For most of the year, Halloran has been sticking to locations that she finds comfortable: her recording studio in New York, the stages and suites in TD Garden, even the SNL studios (where Halloran has been invited to thrice now). The rockstar keeps herself busy but for the weekend, she has invited me to come to her hometown of Boston and spend some time in her company.

Today, she has taken me to one of her favorite spots in the historic American city; a cemetery (even now, she is unapologetically herself).

Even though we’re practically strangers, being around Halloran feels like catching up with a childhood friend. She picked me up from the hotel in her blue Nissan Qashqai – a car that she explains lets her move around the crowded streets of Boston discreetly – and in the front cupholders sat a Flat White for me and a Rose Matcha for her from her favorite café, Jonquils on Newbury Street. On the drive, she asked me questions about my life while her playlist filtered through the speakers. We start with Lizzy McAlpine and end with Fleetwood Mac.

She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and told me to dress casually as well. “It’s a cemetery, not the Ritz,” she said, laughing over the phone yesterday when I called to confirm our plans. “I promise, the ghosts won’t care.”

Even though the ghosts may not care about our attire, Halloran makes sure to leave an offering of coins at the first headstone in the cemetery, the plot belonging to ‘the gatekeeper’ who watches over the other spirits residing in the yard. “It’s just something that I learned,” she explains to me, taking a small sip of her drink. “As someone who’s dependent on security guards, I can understand the need for protection.”

It feels almost like she is a character out of fairytale, passed down from antiquity, as she walks along the paths of the cemetery, the early morning summer air ruffling her hair. Those closest to her say that that is a normal feeling to experience, though. Abigail Avignone, her childhood friend who has found success in the interior design business, told me that “No matter how much time you spend with her, you’ll always feel like you’re missing something.”

That’s is truly how it feels. Even though she has been in the spotlight for years and has had her face plastered on magazines, billboards, and every social media site, no one really knows anything about her.

“Once you enter the entertainment industry - music, television, what have you - it's widely accepted that everything about you is now public domain. From the choices you make, to the things you create, to the people you spend time with - hell, even the clothes you wear... it’s all fair game for comment and criticism,” Halloran muses when I broach the subject. “They turn you into a character for whatever narrative they think will sell.”

When I offered praise on how she has been able to push back against that with her reinvention, she just offers a wry smile.

“That wasn’t their narrative – it was mine. And I peddled and sold it just as hard as they do. It was far from the truth. There was never any healing: I was angry still, I was distrustful, I was the exact opposite of what everyone thought I was. I wasn’t being brave. I was scared. I didn’t want to expose the scars that were still healing. My wounds are mine to press on, not theirs.”

Halloran leads me to the greenhouse where she talks to an employee about the small arrangements of flowers prepared for visitors to take and place on the gravestones. The older woman smiles and laughs with Halloran as if they knew each other for years before they are interrupted by a young teenage girl. The teen asks Halloran for a photo which she happily obliges. When she wanders away, head buried back in her cell-phone, Halloran turns to me with the bouquet of white lilies in her hands.

“Hope you’re ready to star in the news stories tomorrow,” she laughs, the sound bright but cutting.

The two of us walk further into the cemetery, me following along as she takes confident turns on the winding path before stopping in front of the grave that belongs to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“I’ve grown really fond of his works,” Halloran explains, placing the flowers down in front of the headstone. “For a poet from the 1800’s, he actually has some great insight to the life of a celebrity. ‘We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while other judge us by what we have already done.’ That one resonated with me because a few months ago, that was my life. People judged me based on their limited knowledge of my life. All while I knew the truth.”

She mentions therapy, something that she recently brought into her life, calling it one of the greatest investments that she has made in her career as we continue to walk through the expansive plot of land.

“There are plenty of things that I would go back and change. I caused a lot of hurt because I, myself, was hurt. But it was also Longfellow that said ‘look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again.’ If there is anything that anyone can take from this interview, I want it to be that: all that’s left is the present moment and what you do with it.”

Tomorrow, she plans head to her studio in New York. She tells me she’s happy to go back because it was how she processes her feelings, both big and small. Her therapist said this is her practicing displacement; a psychological defense mechanism that involves redirecting an emotion or impulse from it’s original source to a safer more acceptable outlet. She jokes that that is something she’s been doing long before she knew the official name.

In a few hours, she’ll be back in her Beacon Hill brownstone, cuddled up on the couch with her dog Gigi watching re-runs of The Great British Bake-Off – she has been perfecting her own desserts and uses the show for inspiration. But for now, we wander the cemetery, enjoying the warming summer day and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

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[billysjoel]

maybe i'll do them in the order of the results for funsies

synopses below the cut:

i am legend

Robert Neville is the last living man on Earth...but he is not alone. Every other man, woman, and child on Earth has become a vampire, and they are all hungry for Neville's blood. By day, he is the hunter, stalking the sleeping undead through the abandoned ruins of civilization. By night, he barricades himself in his home and prays for dawn. How long can one man survive in a world of vampires?

the black phone

Jack Finney is thirteen, alone, and in desperate trouble. For two years now, someone has been stalking the boys of Galesberg, stealing them away, never to be seen again. And now, Finney finds himself in danger of joining them: locked in a psychopath's basement, a place stained with the blood of half a dozen murdered children. With him in his subterranean cell is an antique phone, long since disconnected . . . but it rings at night anyway, with calls from the killer's previous victims. And they are dead set on making sure that what happened to them doesn't happen to Finney.

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo

In this entrancing novel "that speaks to the Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor in us all" (Kirkus Reviews), a legendary film actress reflects on her relentless rise to the top and the risks she took, the loves she lost, and the long-held secrets the public could never imagine. Aging and reclusive Hollywood movie icon Evelyn Hugo is finally ready to tell the truth about her glamorous and scandalous life. But when she chooses unknown magazine reporter Monique Grant for the job, no one is more astounded than Monique herself. Why her? Why now? Monique is not exactly on top of the world. Her husband has left her, and her professional life is going nowhere. Regardless of why Evelyn has selected her to write her biography, Monique is determined to use this opportunity to jumpstart her career. Summoned to Evelyn's luxurious apartment, Monique listens in fascination as the actress tells her story. From making her way to Los Angeles in the 1950s to her decision to leave show business in the '80s, and, of course, the seven husbands along the way, Evelyn unspools a tale of ruthless ambition, unexpected friendship, and a great forbidden love. Monique begins to feel a very real connection to the legendary star, but as Evelyn's story near its conclusion, it becomes clear that her life intersects with Monique's own in tragic and irreversible ways.

and then i woke up

In a world reeling from an unusual plague, monsters lurk in the streets while terrified survivors arm themselves and roam the countryside in packs. Or perhaps something very different is happening. When a disease affects how reality is perceived, it’s hard to be certain of anything… Spence is one of the “cured” living at the Ironside rehabilitation facility. Haunted by guilt, he refuses to face the changed world until a new inmate challenges him to help her find her old crew. But if he can’t tell the truth from the lies, how will he know if he has earned the redemption he dreams of? How will he know he hasn’t just made things worse?

exit west

In a country teetering on the brink of civil war, two young people meet--sensual, fiercely independent Nadia and gentle, restrained Saeed. They embark on a furtive love affair, and are soon cloistered in a premature intimacy by the unrest roiling their city. When it explodes, turning familiar streets into a patchwork of checkpoints and bomb blasts, they begin to hear whispers about doors--doors that can whisk people far away, if perilously and for a price. As the violence escalates, Nadia and Saeed decide that they no longer have a choice. Leaving their homeland and their old lives behind, they find a door and step through. . . . Exit West follows these remarkable characters as they emerge into an alien and uncertain future, struggling to hold on to each other, to their past, to the very sense of who they are. Profoundly intimate and powerfully inventive, it tells an unforgettable story of love, loyalty, and courage that is both completely of our time and for all time.

a certain hunger

Food critic Dorothy Daniels loves what she does. Discerning, meticulous, and very, very smart, Dorothy's clear mastery of the culinary arts make it likely that she could, on any given night, whip up a more inspired dish than any one of the chefs she writes about. Dorothy loves sex as much as she loves food, and while she has struggled to find a long-term partner that can keep up with her, she makes the best of her single life, frequently traveling from Manhattan to Italy for a taste of both. But there is something within Dorothy that's different from everyone else, and having suppressed it long enough, she starts to embrace what makes Dorothy uniquely, terrifyingly herself. Recounting her life from a seemingly idyllic farm-to-table childhood, the heights of her career, to the moment she plunges an ice pick into a man's neck on Fire Island, Dorothy Daniels show us what happens when a woman finally embraces her superiority.

just for the summer

Justin has a curse, and thanks to a Reddit thread, it's now all over the internet. Every woman he dates goes on to find their soul mate the second they break up. When a woman slides into his DMs with the same problem, they come up with a plan: They'll date each other and break up. Their curses will cancel each other’s out, and they’ll both go on to find the love of their lives. It’s a bonkers idea… and it just might work. Emma hadn't planned that her next assignment as a traveling nurse would be in Minnesota, but she and her best friend agree that dating Justin is too good of an opportunity to pass up, especially when they get to rent an adorable cottage on a private island on Lake Minnetonka. It's supposed to be a quick fling, just for the summer. But when Emma's toxic mother shows up and Justin has to assume guardianship of his three siblings, they're suddenly navigating a lot more than they expected–including catching real feelings for each other. What if this time Fate has actually brought the perfect pair together?

you like it darker

“You like it darker? Fine, so do I,” writes Stephen King in the afterword to this magnificent new collection of twelve stories that delve into the darker part of life—both metaphorical and literal. King has, for half a century, been a master of the form, and these stories, about fate, mortality, luck, and the folds in reality where anything can happen, are as rich and riveting as his novels, both weighty in theme and a huge pleasure to read. King writes to feel “the exhilaration of leaving ordinary day-to-day life behind,” and in You Like It Darker, readers will feel that exhilaration too, again and again. “Two Talented Bastids” explores the long-hidden secret of how the eponymous gentlemen got their skills. In “Danny Coughlin’s Bad Dream,” a brief and unprecedented psychic flash upends dozens of lives, Danny’s most catastrophically. In “Rattlesnakes,” a sequel to Cujo, a grieving widower travels to Florida for respite and instead receives an unexpected inheritance—with major strings attached. In “The Dreamers,” a taciturn Vietnam vet answers a job ad and learns that there are some corners of the universe best left unexplored. “The Answer Man” asks if prescience is good luck or bad and reminds us that a life marked by unbearable tragedy can still be meaningful.

a death in door county

Morgan Carter, owner of the Odds and Ends bookstore in Door County, Wisconsin, has a hobby. When she’s not tending the store, she’s hunting cryptids—creatures whose existence is rumored, but never proven to be real. It’s a hobby that cost her parents their lives, but one she’ll never give up on. So when a number of bodies turn up on the shores of Lake Michigan with injuries that look like bites from a giant unknown animal, police chief Jon Flanders turns to Morgan for help. A skeptic at heart, Morgan can’t turn down the opportunity to find proof of an entity whose existence she can’t definitively rule out. She and her beloved rescue dog, Newt, journey to the Death's Door strait to hunt for a homicidal monster in the lake—but if they’re not careful, they just might be its next victims.

disturbance

As the sun sets on a feverishly hot July evening, a young woman spies on her teenage neighbor, transfixed by what looks like an occult ritual intended to banish an ex-boyfriend. Alone in a new town and desperate to expel the claustrophobic memories of her own ex that have followed, the narrator decides to try to hex herself free from her past. She falls in with the neighbor and her witchy friend, exploring nascent supernatural powers as the boundaries of reality shift in and out of focus. But when the creaks and hums of her apartment escalate into something more violent, she realizes that she may have brought her boyfriend’s presence—whether psychological or paranormal—back to haunt her.

the bell jar

Esther Greenwood is brilliant, beautiful, enormously talented, and successful, but slowly going under—maybe for the last time. In her acclaimed and enduring masterwork, Sylvia Plath brilliantly draws the reader into Esther's breakdown with such intensity that her insanity becomes palpably real, even rational—as accessible an experience as going to the movies. A deep penetration into the darkest and most harrowing corners of the human psyche, The Bell Jar is an extraordinary accomplishment and a haunting American classic.

city on fire

New York City, 1976. Meet Regan and William Hamilton-Sweeney, estranged heirs to one of the city's great fortunes; Keith and Mercer, the men who, for better or worse, love them; Charlie and Samantha, two suburban teenagers seduced by downtown's punk scene; an obsessive magazine reporter, Richard, and his idealistic neighbor, Jenny, - and the detective trying to figure out what any of them have to do with a shooting in Central Park on New Year's Eve. The mystery, as it reverberates through families, friendships, and the corridors of power, will open up even the loneliest-seeming corners of the crowded city. And when the blackout of July 13, 1977, plunges this world into darkness, each of these lives with be changed forever.

[rreskk]

The motel

Set in the North Yankton era!

Summary:  You have been trying hard to keep your sexual relationship with Trevor secret. One risk blew it all. And it all happened in one motel room.

Pairing: Fem!reader/Trevor

TW: -Smut

The motel was dim and hallow.

The 70s wallpaper was barely attached as the remainder would be faded due to the unkind years of passers and criminals (like you). The curtains struggled to reject any outside light source as the street lights would burn your awakened eyes, alarming you of movement that erupted from outside your motel door. It was still, silent, all in solitude despite the figure beside you. Trevor was lied on his side with a cigarette effortlessly stationed between his cracked lips. He was reading a magazine while Michael and Brad claimed the other double kings sized bed. They were fast asleep as minutes would past, almost an hour. The clock reminded you of the night falling and Trevor was still distracted by the pages of printed ink.

You sighed, pulling the covers over your shoulders and reminisced of the past few weeks that was full of mayhem and chaos. Another situation, another trip to a whole new town. You barely see any familiar faces apart from the guys in the room with you. They are the only people you trust, throughout the thick and the thin. Trevor was the closest. Admitting there is sexual tension that resolves during nights of lonely clouds and broken sighs of distant dreams; you’d meet with him for a night together more than once. Stress relief to it’s finest but there is feelings aside. You fear of his behaviour and unpredictive flaws. He fears nothing of you, yet, you have found comfort in his eyes and touch… Not so much with his mouth.

“Fuckin’ reality TV shit.” Trevor judged, smoke evaporating from his mouth as the cigarette wobbled through his words. He was eyeing up the latest news in the magazine.

“Shhhh,” Not wanting to cause disturbance with the sleeping men beside you both, “Lower the tone…” You whispered.

He raised an eyebrow like it was a challenge before hogging the duvet, leaving you attentive and exposed to the cold air. You scoffed at his childish antiques. He stole the warmth and snuffled deeper into his pillow, sending you a devastatingly handsome smirk. You couldn’t hate it.

“I’m cold.” You complained with a smile.

Trevor reached for the ashtray and tapped away some of the ashes built upon his blunt. He grunted as a result of underestimating the distance between him and the nightstand. You watched him with fascination.

“Gimme a reason why we should share the covers.” He soon spoke after retreating the nicotine to his lips. Observing the smoke syncing from his nose and mouth, you were left to realise his offer to debate. He always had a reason to make it a competition.

“Why shouldn’t we?” You questioned.

Trevor looked at you for a minute. He gazed down to the skin revealed from your baggy pyjamas. His eyes lit up with an idea.

“How about this,” He muttered lowly (thankfully following your advice and being quiet), edging closer to your side of the bed, “We both don’t get em. We warm each other up like cavemen, yeah?”

Unfazed as it seems! You were used to these riddles that often preoccupied irrelevant history that doesn’t even apply any reliable facts. You allow him to run his mouth because that’s his only talent besides aggression.

“Why can’t we share?”

“One of us will end up hoggin’ it anyway.” Trevor smirked.

“Look at Brad and Mike… They’re fine with the duvet. Why do you struggle?”

“Struggle? The only thing I struggle with is containing myself when you are lying right beside me.”

Your cheeks submerged in shades of red and pink. It was lucky there were limited lights as you were shamefully blushing.

Trevor breathed out the smoke again, “I don’t suppose you like the idea of fuckin’ when the guys are here.”

The idea was painful… Painfully good. You wanted to justify your opinion but you didn’t want to give yourself into his attempt of gaslighting. He jokingly blackmails you in getting a reaction and you fall every time.

“No, I don’t.”

Not expecting that answer, he exchanged a surprised glance. The cigarette dropped from his mouth and smothered it’s ashes onto the white shirt he wore. Trevor cursed as he wiped it away and threw the wasted blunt across the room, easily agitated that there was no more nicotine streaming through his system.

“I think we should go to sleep instead.” You suggested.

“You kiddin’, right?” Trevor almost begged, “The mood is right, sugar. If we keep it low-“

“Hush!” He immediately stopped his sentence. He rolled his eyes as you double checked that Mike and Brad was still asleep.

“You killjoy.”

You sighed, “Better safe than sorry.”

“Sorry for what? It ain’t our fault we are cramped in this shitty square room.”

“Technically… It is.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Trevor mumbled, holding eye contact through his eyebrows, “Can we please… I’m desperate.”

Slowly averting your eyes to the duvet that covered his lower body, you measured the pros and cons of the situation. He was fidgeting with his shirt like it was suffocating his body. You held your breath and nodded.

“Fine…” His eyes went wide with anticipation, “But!” His pupils dilated at your warning, “We are quiet. Almost silent.”

Trevor frantically nodded, “Quiet, vanilla, kinky, I don’t care.”

“I’m serious. They don’t know about us yet.”

“They’ll find out eventually, even if it’s tonight.”

“Trevor.” You insisted.

He threw his head back and groaned to minimal volume, “Fine…”

“Please, we’ll be quiet, promise?”

“Promise.” A small smile plastered across his compulsive frown.

Moments like these were treasurable. The room was peaceful and well. Brad’s heavy breathing and Michael’s light snoring. You felt Trevor move closer… A gasp left your mouth when he laid sloppy kisses across your jaw and neck. It was mesmerising. He sneakily threw his arm around your waist and tugged you into his neck kisses, applying more heaviness and passion, deciding to use his tongue and scratch the surface of your skin. You groaned silently before turning your head and meeting him.

“Don’t leave obvious marks.” You whispered against his wet lips. Your eyes were closed yet you felt him grin.

His hot breath penetrated your mouth, “I’ll leave em where they can’t see.”

Grasping for more air, he hooked his pinkie to your shirt, dragging it down so your breasts were on display.

“No bra… You wanted this to happen.” You could hear him murmur before taking a nipple into his mouth, tormenting it’s skin with his drool and saliva.

“Trevor…”

“Perfect… Oh, mama, you got the finest tits of em all.”

“Shh,” Secretly loving his risk, you didn’t want to shush him… But you knew this would rile him up more.

His mouth was owning the tip of your breast. He was making love to it with squalled moans of satisfaction. You held back a plea, suddenly feeling like you were making more noise than you hoped.

“I’m so horny for you.” He muffled with your tits in his mouth.

The sight was arousing for no reason. You lied there in the hands of this desperate man and he’s sucking your breasts, talking sweet and drooling uncontrollably. There were lines of his saliva dripping down your stomach. His eyes were maddening, wide, staring into yours. Now you couldn’t hold back.

“S-Stop, they’ll know!” You hissed.

Trevor chuckled breathily and moved away from your bruised torso. He was now hovering over you, a beast in action, a hunter searching for prey. The tongue slivered out of his mouth and circulated around your lips before he finally kissed you, fighting away your shame and anxiousness.

Drowning in the kiss, you broke away and panted, “Fuck you,” His smile growing wild and teeth showing. You gripped onto his shoulders, “Fuck you, fuck you… Just fucking fuck me,” Hushed whispers disturbed the silence of the room.  

“Easy, tiger.” The torturer sieved.

You frowned and he shook his head.

“You have some spike, girlfriend,” Trevor adjusted his bulge, “Fuckk, I’m so horny.”

Trevor leaned onto his elbows, head sunken against your chin as he watched you take off your panties. They were entangled around your ankles, you couldn’t kick them off considering he was already feasting upon your sex. He laid two fingers and rubbed across your wetness, pleased with the sight of it.

“Come on.” You whispered.

Trevor pulled out his boner. It was twitching and red with tensity. His tip was crying bloody murder as it looked strangled with his unleashed orgasm. You placed your arms around his shoulders again and waited for the push.

“Shit.” He whined. Trevor pushed himself in and you both jolted at the impact. The bed squeaked, even though he wasn’t at his hardness yet. You cringed when it kept on slamming against the thin wall.

“Fuckin’… Hold on…” A pillow was snatched from your neck and shoved in between the gap that created the banging and squeaking. Trevor thrusted to test the sound and when you couldn’t hear anymore obvious bangs, his face lit up with exaggeration and sped up his pace.

“Shit, Trevor.” You eyes fell to the others until he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, and only him.

“Pay attention to me, [Y/n]. Don’t worry about them.” The command was exotic, distinct, intimate.

The silent grunts he made was heavenly. The seductive charm he held while holding eye contact as he fucked you, it was hard not to squeal and open the closed mouth of yours. Instead, he did it for you.

“Fuuuckkk!” Trevor sturdily increased his pace when a large moan escaped. You gasped and slammed a palm against his lips, refraining any echoes of your devilish activity to wake the peace of Michael and Brad. His eyes flew back as your dominant hand restricted his moans. He loved being a menace and having the consequences.

“R-Remember…” You struggled, “Be quie- fuck…”

He was rigid now. The thrusts turned into longing grinds and you both arched your backs in neediness. Your legs were shaking against his ones. Trevor’s tongue met the palm of your hand, almost as though he forgot it was there. He licked you animalistically while slamming more power into fucking you. You had to bite your lip and plead him with eyes to not make a single sound.

“Mhmmm, Trev…”

He panted against your hand.

“Trevor, fuck.”

The slapping sensation of your skins bounced off the walls.

“F-Fuck… Fuck…”

Trevor, having his right of speech taken away, watched you with tears in his eyes, rapidly beating against your clit like it was pleasurable pain. His nose was scrunched up and tongue was numbly licking between your fingers. He muffled grunts and lonely effects that his eyes portrayed everything he wanted to say.

“Keep going.” You begged.

The foulness of sweat pasted it’s scent into the air. It was so strong that even you could smell it. However, you’d think of an excuse when morning comes but rightfully so, you were too intense in his physical friction that feeling an orgasm rise was the only think pestering your ungodly mind.

“I’m close.”

He nodded.

“I’m so close.”

Trevor threw his head back from your hands and gurgled a everlasting whine.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU!” He cried.

You felt him break character as he’d thrust one more, hitting the sensitive part of your sex and suddenly, you body shook in ecstasy and white cum dribbled out of your clit. Trevor coughed due to lack of air and pulled out just in time to violate your sweaty stomach with his fluids, preaching it’s place on your body and staining the coloured sheets. He collapsed onto you.

Now it was silent again.

You kept an ear out and heard Michael and Brad’s sleepiness before letting yourself sink into the mattress in relief. Trevor perched his face up and looked at you.

“Fuck, I can’t breathe.” He smirked.

“They didn’t wake up, thankfully.”

“Are you warm now?”

You chuckled, “Yes, yes I am.”

Trevor remained snuggled onto your nakedness and nuzzled his nose into your jaw. You assumed he wasn’t going to move so you closed your eyes and let sleep creep up, a whole world of imagination knocking on the door. With warmth of his love and physical affection, it was easy to fall asleep. No duvet, no pillows, just him.

--

--

“Why’d we leave so early?” Trevor complained with a hot coffee in his hands, sitting beside Michael and people stalking from the cafes window.

“The motel wanted us out before 10,” Added Michael, “It was in the rules.”

The café was quiet and the four of you claimed the dark corner. Both Mike and Brad ordered some breakfast but… You felt quite full up, especially from last night. You guessed Trevor wasn’t eager for food either. He kept close eyes on you and a hidden smirk that embedded the memories. You couldn’t warn him so you had to ignore him.

“Next time we are in a motel with 2 beds, I’m sharing one with [Y/n]. Your bed breath kills me, Mikey.” Bradley laughed.

The mention of your name took Trevor by surprise and he immediately glared over. You hoped he wouldn’t say anything obvious. He was known for having a loud mouth… You could prove it by the times you’ve slept with him.

“If you think I want to smell that rotten piece of shit in the mornin’!” His hand gripping harder on the mug, “You can shit on my dick. I’m stickin’ with [Y/n].” The humour being disturbing.

Michael raised an eyebrow, “That’s not the only reason.”

You all looked at him. Trevor’s eyes widened in curiosity while you could easily hide under the table and hibernate from embarrassment.

“Oh, right.” Brad simply said.

“What?”

“We all know, Trev.”

“All know what?”

Mike rolled his eyes, “Last night. We heard.”

You closed your eyes and grimaced.

“Oh,” Trevor hummed, “Well, in that case, me and [Y/n] need to confess something.”

“We do?” You choked on your drink.

He grinned, “Oh yeah we do.” The table washes over with suspense as he locked eyes with you, “We’ve been doing it for about a year now.”

Michael’s reaction was appalling. He scoffed in disgust and refused to look in Trevor’s direction.

“What! Don’t act like a virgin. What makes this weird?” Trevor frowned.

“Jesus… Is this an official relationship?” He inquired.

You thought to yourself and found no answer. Neither did Trevor.

Brad sighed, “That answers it.”

[labellenouvelle]

VICTORIAN PERFUME BOX

Masterfully brass inlaid Victorian mid 1800s  wooden perfume box with stunning hand painted back mirror and reads “ MRS PEARL HAY JAHANS “  With five crystal containers and a sun catcher ball.  If you believe in bad luck and broken mirrors this is not for you.   

Item No. E5671

Dimensions: 5.25″ x 4.25 x 4″ high ( closed ) 

List Price: $ 750

504.581.3733 / t

info@labellenouvelle.com / e

[allylikethecat]

⋆˚࿔ october prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The second to last prompt lets goooo. Thank you so much again to any and everyone reading these!

³⁰⁾ incensed prayer beads

Matty looked over the shelves of the antique store George had dragged him too with interest. He couldn’t find any type of rhyme or reason, any kind of logic to the organization. There were picture frames and incensed prayer beads on one shelf. Vintage Playboy magazines and coffee cups on the other. Across the store, paired with woodland creature figurines were teacups. 

The energy in the store was the most peculiar, and Matty wasn’t sure if he was intrigued or unsettled by it. He had lost George almost instantly, the other man bolting to the back of the store, following the signs for musical instruments and records. Matty, though just as, if not even more, passionate about those types of things than George had hesitated at the front, something telling him that he wasn’t meant to venture further into the bowels of the building. He hovered near baskets of pictures, and started thumbing through the black and white prints, the white yellowed with age and the corners bent.

It made him sad to think that he was holding a family’s history in his hands, a family that he didn’t and wouldn’t ever know. A family that had come to some kind of end, with no legacy to be passed on, their memories gathering dust on the shelves of a random antique shop off the beaten path. Matty refused to admit it, but he wasn’t even fully confident he knew what city they were currently in.

He loved being on tour, but it also felt like being stuck inside a time loop, like the movie Groundhog Day or that episode of Supernatural. It was the same thing every night, the same scripted show, with more outlandish ad libs as the days went on to bring himself some kind of amusement, because in the end, it didn’t really matter, he would just wake up in a new hotel room that looked the same as the one before it and do it all, all over again. 

The pictures unnerved him, as he looked into the eyes of a young girl in a frilly white dress. He wondered if she had died young or if she had grown to adulthood before passing of old age. He felt like she was looking into his soul, like she was the one pulling the strings in the repetitive loop of his life. He shivered, putting the picture back into the basket. 

He froze, before picking up the next one and holding it in front of his face, squinting as if his eyes were deceiving him. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. It couldn’t be, he thought hysterically, it was all just a coincidence. There were two men in the photo, standing in front of the very same antique shop George had seen from across the street. The picture was old, a clearly worn polaroid, the corners soft as if he had been there for ages. But it was Matty and George in the photo, staring back lifelessly. Matty swallowed hard, his hands shaking. They were wearing the same clothes in the photo, as they wore that day. He put the picture back in the basket. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but they needed to leave. Now. 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 |

[omegaremix]

Rosie’s Vintage shopping list, 2018.

Two more stops to go before the music shopping spree is history. Whatever locations are on the list seems to be further away each time. Today’s theme is the record annex which is picking up on Long Island. It started a year-and-a-half ago when Hideaway Vinyl set shop in Rosie’s Vintage in Huntington. Looks like they have an online presence still despite nothing being updated in a few months, so why not take the trip to see what it’s all about?

It’s been quite a while since being in Huntington. I do have some personal history there. My ex- Yenny brought me over to work there (our second job working together) for several years and it’s where she used to live. And let’s try to forget a dreaded miserable summer post-rain day out with former friend and staffer Molina, who took me through a cemetery, burger place, and an isolated park in an attempt to get close to me. No dice.

I walk in to Rosie’s and it’s bonafide vintage. Looks like the owners took over a small Fifties-style house in white-bread suburbia. Walk in and you’ll certainly feel the loud creaking of the all-wood floors. Its’ living room, dens, bedrooms, and many closets are filled with tons of kitsch, knick-knacks, and collectibles from the mid-century. Street signs, old threads, compasses, jewelry, board games, wardrobes, dolls, salt-shakers…I can go on. There’s many stories and tales to be told by each and every object that survived its’ era; all neatly organized, piled, and sorted. As an added touch, there’s the classics played on the overheads. Collections were posted on its page and testimonials from its customers recall their purchases: old vials and medicine jars, pill and spice tins, matchbook collections, sports pennants, dishes, and the occasional naughty glassware. I can still go on if you want me to.

The guy behind the register greets me and asks what he could do for me. I’m here for Hideaway Vinyl, I say. He tells me that they left shop a few months ago. Could’ve fooled me. They no longer exist. They’re still present online on social media but it all made sense why the lack of updates. Had Hideaway stayed, there’d be a presence of punk, hardcore, surf, ska, and rockabilly. He did show me where all the vinyl is now deposited by Vinyl Paradise. Remember them? There were twelve shelves top and bottom of pre-owned vinyl, four of the same across from those bins of newly-pressed and Record Store Day releases. 

Of the first twelve were plenty of rock, pop, dance, and 12″ dee-jay singles most for $10.00 and less with the occasional new hardcore pressing. I found a lot of 12″ hip-hop and dance singles; Nice & Wild and Harold Faltermeyer were two hits New York’s Z100 played growing up during my single-digit Eighties youth. Everything else in Shabba Ranks, Mad Skillz, Boogiemonsters, and Blahzay Blahzay were all summer hits going to Brentwood. WBLS, Hot 97, and Kiss FM played them all. As always, there’s the pop-rock quotient from Genesis and Dire Straits. Hello, nice to meet you again. Also relieved to find was the complete Malcomb McLaren & The World Famous Supreme Team’s “Buffalo Gals” in a die-cut label sleeve.

In comes Thea, co-owner of Rosie’s Vintage in her rockabilly / Rosie The Riveter motif. She says hello and sees the stack in my hand. She offers to put it aside for me which I obliged. I kindly ask if there would be more vinyl and does tell me there might be some upstairs. That’s where I’m going. Heading up is possibly one of the steepest set of steps I experienced walking. I also had to dodge a heavy-set punk couple decked with gauges, tattoos, low-cut tank tops and tees coming from downstairs. I walk up and there’s a closet with a secret crate of records on the floor containing The Talking Heads’ 77 for $20.00 and its’ sister Tom Tom Club’s Close To The Bone for $15.00. Shucks. I scour the upstairs to find many more antiques. Compasses, typewriters, old magazines, books, brochures in one room with very little traces of 7″ records in one crate. The kitchen was full of dishes, glasses, and silverware stacked in the sink and on its’ counter but no records to be found.

Thea rings me up and I’m golden. This became the shortest time spent in any store with the smallest stack and the least amount of money paid. 45 minutes to look through 16 bins of records for a total of $29.00 and I say good-bye to Rosie’s Vintage and Huntington until next time. Only two more stores are on the list to go before calling it quits on record-shopping for a while: Sunday Records in Riverhead and Innersleeve Records in Amagansett.

Genesis Abacab

Nice & Wild “Diamond Girl” 12″

Shabba Ranks “Mr. Loverman” 12″

Dire Straits self-titled

Mad Skillz “Nod Factor” 12“

Boogiemonsters “Recognized Thresholds Of Negative Stress 12″

Blahzay Blahzay “Danger!” 12″

Harold Faltermeyer “Axel F” 12“

Spyro Gyra self-titled

Malcomb McLaren & The World Famous Supreme Team “Buffalo Gals” 12″

[tigermike]

SERIOUS Custom:

1951 Studebaker Woodie - Never Slow Down - StreetRodder

Body

Gray Baskerville accurately described Dennis Varni as "a hot rodder's hot rodder." Since buying a '31 Model A as a teenager in the late '50s, Dennis doesn't seem to have slowed down ever. He has amassed a phenomenal stable of collector cars, trucks, vintage race cars, and motorcycles of practically every type, including the '29 Model A roadster built by Boyd Coddington that was named America's Most Beautiful Roadster in 1992. He has participated in motorsports all over the world, including numerous trips to Mexico to race in the famous La Carrera Panamericana, to South Africa for the South African Rally Championship, and to the Bonneville Salt Flats, right here in the U.S., where he drove his Falconer L6-powered "Speed Nymph" streamliner just shy of 350 mph.

Dennis has more checks on his hot rodding bucket list than just about anybody we know. So did you really expect his latest street rod to be something ordinary?

Body Bottom

Any 1951 Studebaker woodie custom could be considered out of the ordinary (how many can you think of?), but Dennis, builder Curt Hill, and the people who had previously helped create this custom woodie, have taken the '51 to an extraordinary level.

This car was under construction when Dennis made the winning bid for it at the auction of the late Joe MacPherson's prized collection. The unfinished project had been started by Doug Carr of Woodn' Carr. It had already been transformed from a sedan to a fastback (based on Thom Taylor's design sketches) and was already a woodie. The top was chopped 2-1/2 inches, and the rear fenders were stretched 18 inches and treated to custom taillight lenses and bezels. The '37 Ford headlights were installed by Steve Davis, who had done some of the early fabrication on the car.

Such an unusual car deserved an equally unique engine. For a while, Dennis considered dropping in a Cadillac engine to create his own version of the Studillac, the Cadillac-powered Stude coupes custom-built in the mid '50s. Then he remembered the one-of-a-kind induction system he'd found at a swap meet decades ago. The mechanical fuel injection system, with wild-looking air bodies, was a prototype created by Propulsion Development Laboratories in the '50s. Everybody had seen it on the cover of Hot Rod magazine in 1959 and nobody had seen it since. The setup is finally in service, feeding a Ford 427 FE engine. Dan Brewer in Torrance, California, did the assembly on the engine and converted the PDL mechanical injection to work with a Hilborn electronic system hidden under the manifold. Edelbrock cylinder heads are topped with Edsel valve covers to replicate the look engine on Hot Rod's cover. The new combination produced 410 hp on the dyno. An adapter fits the Ford to a GM 700-R4 transmission. This is one of the rarest, most unusual engines you'll find in a hot rod, but Dennis is almost nonchalant about it. "Nobody puts Edsels in Studebakers," is what he said.

The interior was entrusted to Sid Chavers in Santa Clara, California. Chavers built custom bucket seats and covered them in tan leather with gray-toned fur inserts. No need to replace the '51 Studebaker dash, so Redline Gauge Works restored the appearance of the factory gauges and updated the internals. A reproduction '54 Stude steering wheel came from Shrock Brothers, which specializes in repro Studebaker parts. Lucky 7 Customs gave the wheel and column their wood grain paint. The perfect accessory to the interior is the set of vintage alligator-grain luggage in the rear deck area, which Dennis found in an antique store in Washington.

The end result is a genuinely unique custom that would probably hover around the top of most people's lists of great Studebakers, great woodies, and great customs.

[oh-yeah-just-watch-me]

Check in (5.15.24)

I woke up and went over to D’s. I really didn’t want to work out at all because I started my period this morning and I was hurting but I did a 15 minute ab workout on my back, along with some plants and hamstring exercises.

I ate a slice of quiche and took a hot bath to help with my back and my period cramps.

D and I went to the dealership to pick up his car and return the loaner. We decided to grab lunch in the gayborhood downtown. I invited our friend C since he lives around and we all had tacos. After that, C left and D and I went to a consignment shop (haha I know I went yesterday but I just love finding looking for quirky things in them. I did t find anything and it was sooo hot so D said he wanted to go get a haircut but could drop me off on a street with lot of little different types of shops on it.

I found an antique store and I decided I wanted to try to find something to buy to surprise him.

WELP HAHA, BOY DID I FIND SOMETHING!

So it’s hard to explain but there’s this story from his childhood he told me involving a playboy magazine (it’s a very innocent story despite the softcore magazine, not really inappropriate) and it started an inside joke between him and I and all our friends.

I found an issue that would’ve been from right around that time.

Oh he thought it was so sweet. He really really liked it.

We went back to his house, we cuddled and he made me a decaf espresso cappuccino and we drank coffee on his patio and talked. He helped me apply for some scholarships for school.

We went back inside and Uber eats Mediterranean food and watched Succession, then I went home.

[petitemingi]

Rainday Antiques | Kim Hongjoong

Synopsis: Ah, Rainday Antiques. Why not pop in to shelter from the rain? Cozy up with a book or a magazine from the reading corner, maybe start up a conversation with the owner, Kim Hongjoong. Relax and take a moment to breathe, we've got you.

Word count: 2.6k

Disclaimer: this story is heavily based on the headspace sleepcast story 'Rainday Antiques' and follows a similar storytelling theme. I apologise if this causes any inconveniences for anyone.

If you've ever spent a rainy evening travelling down a quiet street looking for shelter, you'll understand what a blessing it is to come across a location like Rainday Antiques. It comes into view halfway between two houses. the lovely store with two large windows on either side of the entryway. The place has a dreamlike feel since the windows are divided into square panes and the glass in between the metal bars is just a little bit wavy.

If you can believe it, this charming small shop is open every single day of the year. Serving both random onlookers and potential late-arriving foreign antique connoisseurs. Which of these categories best describes you? I'll leave it up to you. On a night like tonight, when the street lights are fuzzy halos and the rain starts coming down harder so that your footsteps make little slaps and squelches on the sidewalk, nothing is more inviting than the hazy orange light filtering through the antique shop's steam-covered windows and the weathered old sign over the doorway that reads, "Come on in, we're open!" The sign is now creaking a little in the damp breeze.

The inside of Rainday Antiques is cosy as can be. You'll be enveloped in thick crimson velvet drapes when you push open the door, providing further shelter from the weather. The drape rings glide across the rail and make a gentle click as you exit through them into the store.

It’s quite a place.

As it rains, you notice a skylight dome above you. It glances up into the night as it satisfyingly patters against the glass. There is plenty of room to move about, but every surface is covered in trinkets, decorations, and artwork. A brass umbrella stand and some coat hooks are located to the left of the door. Please, feel free to remove any damp layers from your body and take advantage of the opportunity to unwind fully.

A charmingly friendly man by the name of Hongjoong is the proprietor of this wonderful store. A smart young gentleman reading a book quietly in a corner of his realm. The most generous person you could ever expect to meet in fact. He’s a true listener, and there are very few people you can say that about.

He'd listen intently to the end if you ever made the decision to seek him out. He would then make a very straightforward yet intelligent statement, something that would reassure you that everything will be alright. He nods politely at you as you enter, indicating that you are welcome to browse quietly for as long as you like. However, he is nearby if you need him. You proceed to the back of the store and a bookcase. There are boxes full of old, leather-bound volumes with the words "assorted books" written on the side in black marker pen.

Turning one over reveals pages with gold engravings and a pale blue ribbon stitched into the spine to serve as a place marker. The pages have small, densely spaced type and brown blotches all over them.

The title of this particular book is "Pure." What a great title, isn't it? You pick up a larger book with lovely watercolours of South African flora and fauna from the nineteenth century. There is a photo of some lovely blue blooms that have opened, but are now dying in the crevices. It's a beautiful blue.

Conveniently, there’s an armchair right next to the bookcase so you sink into it. It’s rather raggedy, and the stuffing is coming out in some places, but it’s surprisingly comfortable. At your feet, there’s a small cupboard containing vintage magazines. Perhaps you could just sit here a while, while the rain pitter patters in the background, immuring you with all this ancient literature, allowing yourself to slip for at least a short time into its magical world.

You are in front of one of the many grandfather clocks the shop has. It ticks steadily and decisively, just like a single raindrop that keeps dropping into a metal pale. observing the clock's workings, which are visible via the glass front. The chimes of the clock have a grimy sound to them. Glancing down and away from the clock, you see a small dog.

This is Minnie, Hongjoong’s miniature wire-haired dachshund.

She has round, shining eyes and a little whispy beard. She appears to be a serious, but very friendly dog, and an excellent judge of character. She has already determined that you are someone deserving of respect. She bobs her head, sniffs your shoes, and then lumbers off to her basket a short distance away. She climbs inside and makes three complete turns before sitting down and gazing affectionately at you. She likes customers that come into the store, but she has decided that she likes you in particular.

There’s so much to look at in here. You might just want to stay there for a moment, gazing around you and soaking up the atmosphere in this rain haven. Objects of various kinds are displayed all over the walls. You notice a grandfather clock ticking as you scan the room and notice a mid-century coffee table. A magnificent collection of feathered hats are suspended from an art nouveau hat stand. A tattered, aged-looking antique mantlepiece mirror and a dappled-gray rocking horse with a crimson saddle and a long, silvery mane. As you approach the hat stand, you reach out to lightly touch its brass arms. They are cool to the touch and have a small sphere on each end.

Upon it there hangs a blue sculpted hat, with a gold brim designed to be worn at a tilt. A feathered plume, tied presumably to match the hat, is soft and slightly grainy to the touch, held in place by a rhinestone pin - it too is draped over the hat stand. How philosophical these objects appear, gathered here against the flow of time and undoubtedly without any thought for the weather. Some date back more than a century. And yet, here they are, eager for a fresh start in life. starting from the instant they first encounter that particular someone who is moved enough to take them home.

In a dimly lit corner of Rainday Antiques, stands a writing desk, covered with a blanket on which are laid out numerous, smaller items. One of these is a box of old photographs and postcards. As you leave through, you glimpse vintage postcards of European cities and snow-capped mountains, black and white beaches, interesting rock formations and a donkey in a straw hat.

Men dressed in cricket whites might be seen in group photos. Family uncomfortably gathered for an embarrassing snapshot. cartoons of terriers, kittens in baskets, and a set of a Spaniel that is obviously well-loved. Some have scrawled, largely eligible, handwriting on the back. You flip over a Dutch postcard that features a windmill. "I'm having a great time here despite the weather. It's raining heavily as I write this after just returning from a walk that we took. I appreciate the books. With love" All of these memories were previously someone else's property, but they are now potentially yours. The amusing thing about memories is that they are quite flexible.

The smell of your damp umbrella seeping into the stand by the door is mixed with that of old books and radiators, with a faint hint of something fresh. The darker areas of the business are occasionally illuminated by the lights of a passing car that occasionally streaks through the glass. You can see a magnificent holding screen in one area, as well as a row of leather-bound books. Japanese landscapes, including homes with distinctively pointed roofs and oblong trees, are embroidered onto its silk sheets. Overlooking a river is a bridge. The rain seems to pick in speed as the automobile passes before returning to its regular rhythm, creating a loud sigh in the process.

You could stay here all night just breathing in and looking at things. Thinking about their stories.

In one corner of the store, you’ll find a glass cabinet filled with crockery. If you take a closer look, you’ll be able to inspect a striking art deco piece with sharp triangles for handles, patterned with bright geometric squares, in orange and black.

A small case lined with velvet sits next to it, containing a collection of teaspoons with ornamental handles. You can almost imagine the ambience of a long-ago tea party. A conversation punctuated by the delicate clinking of teaspoons on porcelain and ambienced, like tonight, by the comforting sound of rain on the windows.

If you asked Hongjoong, he’d tell you that every antique has a story to tell. He likes to say that he never takes anything for his store unless there’s a fantastic tale behind it. It’s a bit of a lie, though. If he likes something enough, he’ll just go ahead and make up a story about it, such as this vintage little toy car, which he says used to belong to a member of a famous boy band or public figure. He hasn’t got any paperwork to prove it, unfortunately. But then again, there’s nothing to disprove it either.

The car is bright, emerald green, slightly rusting at the edges. But in its hayday, it would surely have been the perfect vehicle for a young prince or princess to take about a turn in the royal garden. It has a long bonnet, but the rest of the car is all seat. There’s a large steering wheel sticking up in the center of the car so that driving it might feel like driving a mini tractor. It’s open-top, though. There’s no roof at all so it’d be no use on a night like tonight.

The rain outside seems to be coming down even harder, but the atmosphere inside of the store remains peaceful and unchanging. Every so often, Hongjoong lets out a small “mmm” as if to express some sense of profound relaxation, and the pages of his unwieldly newspaper rustles as he turns them. Every now and then he regards you, from moment to moment, over the top of his half-moon spectacles, to check you’re not in need of anything before returning to his reading.

You move around the store quietly, occasionally picking up something and turning it over in your hands. Sometimes, you return to the raggedy armchair to rest, and contemplate your surroundings.

Each time you look around, something new catches your eye; a model ship, perhaps? Or a movie poster from the golden age of cinema, maybe a blonde teddy bear wearing a bow-tie? Whatever it is, you gaze at it for some time, wondering: 'Where has it been? Who owned it before? Has it lived a long life with many different owners? Has it travelled the world? Or has it been treasured faithfully by one person until now? And what journey might it be about to embark on next?'

"have you found what you're looking for?" Hongjoong places his book down lightly, his thumb holding his place. You hadn't noticed before, but Hongjoong had a ring on his thumb. It glistened slightly in the dim light of the shop. It appeared to cast a rainbow onto the wood of the desk.

"not yet" you'd reply "I'm still browsing a little"

A light smile decorates Hongjoong's face at your response, and he nods "let me know if you need anything" he says, and he returns to his book.

Moving further along the shelving, you notice a line of crystal bells. Overtaken by curiosity, you pick them up one at a time, holding them to your left ear to listen to the delicate chimes they would sound. You decided that this would be one of your purchases, picking up the one you deemed most beautiful and delicate sounding and walk to place it on the front desk.

"anything else?" Hongjoong would ask, his eyes lifting from the adventures in his book, this time using a long metal bookmark to save his place. He gazes at you warmly, picking up the crystal bell to wrap it in bubble wrap. The bell makes another delicate chime as he does.

"I think I'll keep looking... if that's alright" you respond. Hongjoong nods his head once, this time a small chuckle escapes his lips. Once again, he returns to his book.

A little way further into the shop there are some small brooch pins, all of varying shapes and sizes. Some have faces on them, some look like butterflies, there's even one with some tiny detailed scenery painted onto it. You pick this one up in your hand and carry it with you - this will be your second purchase.

There is just one more shelf in the shop, this one has some glass flowers the size of your ring finger laid out on it. Bluebells, Snowdrops, Lilies and Lupines, they are all delicately coloured in light shades of blue, green, purple and white. A small note on the shelf reads 'glass flowers, two for the price of one, will look lovely as a centrepiece'

You decide the Lupine and the Bluebell flowers are more to your taste and pick them up gently from their places. You have a lovely little vase to display them in at home. They will look lovely on your dining room table.

Hongjoong has already placed his book down, you notice he only has a few pages left to read. He has just finished wrapping your bell in bubble wrap and has prepared a small cardboard bag to place your items in.

"I'll have these as well, please" you place your new found items in front of Hongjoong. He furrows his eyebrows softly and lifts first the glass flowers to his eye level, twiling them between his fingertips and then the brooch, adjusting his glasses as though they could magnify the detail more. He smiles again and places the brooch in the bag, then wraps the flowers in bubble wrap as he had the bell.

"You have a delicate taste in antiques" He says, handing you the bag. You take it gently from his, a slight glow taking place across your cheeks.

"and you have a wondrous taste in books" you respond. Hongjoong bites the inside of his lips, perhaps slightly taken by your attentive response.

"perhaps we could discuss it over coffee some time?" he questions, his hand funding it's way to the back of his neck in slight embarrassment at his words.

"perhaps so" you say, feeling slightly bashful yourself. You see Hongjoong take a piece of paper and a pencil from the edge of his desk, he writes an address down on it.

Sunrise Cafe,

Saturday 14:35

Hongjoong xxx-xxx-xxx

He hands you the paper and you bow as you leave, taking your umbrella from the stand by the door, stepping out once again in to the rain.

If you've ever spent a rainy evening travelling down a quiet street looking for shelter, you'll understand what a blessing it is to come across a location like Rainday Antiques. It comes into view halfway between two houses. The lovely store with two large windows on either side of the entryway. The place has a dreamlike feel since the windows are divided into square panes and the glass in between the metal bars is just a little bit wavy. It has a warm atmosphere about it and the shop keeper Hongjoong is perhaps the kindest person you would ever hope to meet.

thank you for reading, i hope this ambience story has left you calm — have a wonderful day ~

taglist: @hwahawt @yungisstar1117-writes @sxndmemes @dogsongy

[babybearsnz]

It’s so dusty in there

Sickie: Jungkook

Caretakers: Bangtan, mainly Tae

Relationships: Platonic

Jungkook’s pov:

The members were celebrating Tae-hyung’s birthday tonight… and my gift still hasn’t been delivered. I ordered him a Saint Laurent jacket he’s been talking about, but I checked on it yesterday and shipping had been delayed.

‘Great,’ I thought, ‘How am I supposed to get a new gift in such short notice?’

I trudged into the kitchen where the other members were already enjoying their breakfasts.

“Morning, sleepy head!” Jimin sang, patting me on the head. I gave him a smirk in return and walked over to my youngest hyung.

“Happy birthday, TaeTae.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and nuzzled into his neck.

“Thanks, Kookie,” he laughed, “Just woke up, huh?”

“Kook-ah, eat something and then we’ll go for a walk to wake you up.” Yoongi-hyung handed me a plate and I nodded, suppressing a yawn.

********time skip********

It was about an hour after breakfast. Yoongi was cleaning up, Namjoon was reading in his room, Tae and Hobi were playing a card game at the kitchen table, and I was kicking ass at Mario Kart against Jin and Jimin.

“There’s no way I just got 9th place,” Jin groaned.

I stood from the couch and took a bow having gotten first place once again, laughing uncontrollably.

Yoongi entered the room. “Kook, you ready to go?” He asked.

“I’m not tired anymore, hyung.” I earned a raised eyebrow in return.

“Kookieeeee!” Yoongi whined.

“Alright, alright,” I said, turning to Jin and Jimin, “you guys keep playing without me.”

“Ya, maybe I’ll win one this time,” Jimin joked, rolling his eyes.

I set down my controller, quickly slipped on my sneakers, and followed Yoongi-hyung out the door.

Yoongi’s pov:

Jungkook hurried out the door behind me. “Hyung, why did you want to go for a walk so bad?” He asked.

“I have a plan. Follow me.”

Without questioning my intentions, the maknae obeyed, clearly confused but willing to find out what I was up to.

We approached a storefront and I stopped. “Do you know where we are?” I asked.

Jungkook shrugged, “some antique shop?”

“Look at the window display, Kook.”

He squinted his eyes, getting closer to the window. Behind the glass there were old notebooks. The insides were lined with vintage papyrus. The covers were a golden brown leather with beautiful patterns. And there was a brass hook to keep the book closed and locked. Jungkook looked back at me, I smile spread across his face.

“After you told me your gift still hadn’t come, I remembered this shop.” I told him.

Tae had been talking about notebooks like these. He said he would feel like a modern day Shakespeare if he got his hands on one.

“It’s perfect, hyung, thank you.” I messed with his hair and we stepped inside.

Jungkook’s pov:

I couldn’t help but smile as we entered the shop. The gift was perfect and much more heartfelt. Inside the shop everything was made out of mahogany. The wallpaper had tiny flowers on it. It looked like something out of a magazine. And the air was thick. I sniffled, smelling dusty wood.

There was a thin layer of dust on every surface. Everything was SO OLD. Yoongi and I were browsing around when it became too much for my nose.

“ESHHhuh!” The sneeze was dry and itchy. I desperately rubbed my nose, causing another to escape. “haESHH!”

“Ooh, bless.” I felt Yoongi pat my back.

“Thanks,” I replied. I put on a mask to try and block the dust from reaching my nose, though I knew it was probably too late.

“Is the dust bothering you?” Yoongi asked, a bit concerned.

I nodded. “haESHHhuh!”

“Bless you, Kook. Let’s get out of here, cha?” It was a rhetorical question. We were leaving.

We made our purchases and escaped to the street. I took off my mask, sighing in relief. I was sniffling and sneezing for the entirety of the walk back to the house, glad I had gotten Tae a gift, but utterly miserable.

Taehyung’s pov:

As soon as the front door opened I heard a flurry of sneezes. They sounded harsh and itchy and I immediately recognized it being Kook-ah’s allergies.

I ran over to him. “Aww Kookie, what happened?” I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and brought him over to the couch.

“Kook, don’t rub your eyes, you’re okay.” Jin rushed over with tissues while Yoongi went to find allergy meds.

“ESHHhuh! HESHHhah! ESHH!” Tears began flowing from his red and irritated eyes.

I wiped his eyes, “Aish, you’re having quite the allergy attack, huh?” I asked, unsure if the tears were from an irritant or if he was actually crying.

He pouted, “Yoongi-hyung was h—helping me get you a g—gift because mine wasn’t shipped a—an—and we went to that antique shop down the street.”

So he was crying.

“Kookie, oh no, it’s so dusty in there.” I cooed.

“B—but I got you this book.” He handed me a stunning leather journal, one with the old paper inside. I had always wanted one.

“Thank you, really, don’t cry.” I pulled him into a big hug, feeling his breath catch.

“heshhOO!” He tried his best to turn away as a sneeze ripped out of him.

“Bless you, bless you. Gwaenchana?”

Jungkook nodded and relaxed into me.

********time skip********

The members and I took turns cuddling with the maknae and giving him meds and tissues, trying our best to make him laugh until dinner.

The rest of the night was filled with sneezes, becoming less frequent as the hours passed. Kookie fell asleep in my lap and I played with his hair, listening to his congested snores. I grinned as I dozed off with him. Cuddles were the perfect end to a birthday.