#kitchen sink realism

[horror-aesthete]

The Borderlands, 2013, dir. Elliot Goldner

[canvasmirror]

John Randall Bratby (1928-1992) • Self Portrait (triptych) • 1961 • Worthing Museum and Art Gallery, Worthing, England, UK

John Bratby was an English painter who founded the kitchen sink realism style of art that was influential in the late 1950s. He made portraits of his family and celebrities. His works were seen in television and film. Bratby was also a writer. – WikiArt

[ratwavegamehouse]

Oh hey I've got two things on sale as part of the Itch Winter Sale.

How to Embrace a Swamp Creature - A game of mentally ill swamp holding in to crumbling connections in a deprived commuter town.

It's a Belonging outside Belonging game, meaning there are no dice and no GM, instead using a token economy connecting the player characters to eachother and to the looming Forces at Play that wreck their lives.

I've said it's a game about looking at a friendship that exists just because it's always existed and asking if that's still enough. It's about friends who've seen you at your worst and resenting them because you're worried that's all they'll ever see you as.

The other game on sale is Fear the Taste of Blood; an asymmetric game for 3+ players telling stories inspired by classic monster movies like Dracula and the Wolfman.

Based on the rules for Beyond the Rift by Dee Pennway, using a mix of cards and dice mechanics. One player acts as the Monster, one acts as the Survivors trying to face them down, and one player acts as the Night they'll meet in.

It also comes with three pre-written scenarios. Werecat by Night, a werebeast story set at an ice skating competition with the human form of the dangerous Werecat amongst the Survivors. Man-Made Phantom, a mashup of the Invisible Man, haunted house stories and The Old Dark House. And finally The Widower of Count Dracula; an all queer cast including the adult son of Mina and Johnathon Harker try to survivor the late Count Dracula's lover in post-war London.

The sale is here:

(also I'm probably gonna raise some prices on a few other games like TDL and maybe some of the PWYW things before the New Year so now may be a good time to grab them. Consider all of history to this point a sale on those)

[marlocandeea]

just written something thats not half bad but deeply personal at the same time.

[sheylads]

I love realism but writing it is soooooo hard

[miss-m-calling]

Given the choice between a bear and a man who refers to women as “females,” I think I would choose the bear. "Females” is a clear and unmistakable sign: This person is not normal about women. “Females”! It has all the pseudoscientific confidence of a proud eighth-grade boy sharing a lewd term he read on Urban Dictionary. “Females”! Turn around, go back; nothing humanizing is at the end of this sentence. We are about to hear a pronouncement that is both insulting and incorrect, delivered as though it was just handed down by God on tablets. If we are unlucky, it will be followed by nods. . . . It is how you get talked about when you aren’t in the room, even if you are in the room. It is how you get talked about when you could never be counted among the people in the room, no matter how many children you had. It is the plural, the nounification, that grates. The same measured and deliberate disrespect as “Democrat Party” but in reverse. People are female; females are not people. Females — we have some of these in the lab, I believe. We are studying them now. We have had great success teaching them to solve mazes. Now we are trying to figure out how to encourage them to reproduce. They don’t like it when we feed them pellets. Sometimes, in the right experimental conditions, they look almost human. “Female” will make you long for the cozy familiarity of “bitch,” which at least lets you know that the speaker understands you are capable of perceiving insult. No, you are being insulted by someone who doesn’t realize you’re the sort of creature that can hear him. He would be equally surprised if you told him he’d just insulted a side table. Insulted? But I didn’t know they could understand language! The language of men? The language of Hemingway? Females? The same sort of man who refers to “females” without batting an eye will hiss and emit smoke if you try to call someone who is pregnant a person, something I very much preferred when it was my turn. A pregnant person sounds like someone the law values and medical science is invested in protecting! If you are in a situation where you are expecting and they are referring to your embryo as a person but not you, run, don’t walk, to the nearest state where that isn’t happening! A person gets to determine their own purpose. A female is at the mercy of someone who feels he is inevitably better informed.

Alexandra Petri

[portlandwithyou]

Is there a word for when you feel like the movie has been going on forever and you look and you still have an hour left

[lovelaurs]

...any chance you could do mystreet travis x reader where they get overwhelmed and he helps them?? Just some fluff for the fluffy guy :3 ty

Remember. Your. Water.

TAKING YOUR TIME

pairing : mystreet travis x gn reader synopsis : it was long day filled with stress, and you come home absolutely riddled with anxiety. luckily, your boyfriend travis is there to comfort you through it as you're overwhelmed by life. tags : comfort, fluff, reassurance, slight romance, but more focused on support than anything word count : 0.9k a/n : i was so excited to write this one since mystreet travis (the one i have rotated so many times in my brain) was my favorite back in middle school! i took inspiration from how my life was in college and how my anxiety slowly got worse, so hopefully that works for realism! i love using my own pain in writing!! also, i made sure to make him really endearing, so i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

It had been a long day.

As you closed the car door behind you, you could feel your arms ache, causing you to stretch them as you walked towards the front door.

You’d think after such a hard day that you’d come home to complete relaxation, letting your mind take a break as you slump on the couch.

But unfortunately, it seemed that wouldn’t be the case.

As you opened the door, you were greeted with the reminder that you still had several chores to do.

Since you lived alone, you set up your own reminder system to help you remember to do chores.

And unfortunately, this was one of those days.

It had been about a week since you vacuumed, and practically two weeks since you dusted, and that doesn’t even begin with your laundry as well!

You got this.

You groaned as you took off your shoes by the door, hanging your coat up on the rack next to you before moving to the kitchen to grab a snack before you started cleaning up.

That was when you noticed the sink.

Your dishwasher had broken about a week ago, letting countless dishes and utensils pile up within the basin. 

Hiring a repairman? Washing the dishes? Just two more things to add to your already dreadful day. You didn’t have time for a snack just yet.

You could feel your head already begin to bubble up with thoughts, starting to overthink everything you had to do as you approached the storage closet.

Just breathe. You can do this.

You took a deep breath in, your shoulders rising and falling along with you.

As you grabbed the handle of your vacuum, ready to begin cleaning, your bad luck seemed to double.

The handle broke off. As soon as you grabbed it, the cheap piece of plastic simply popped off without hesitation.

That was it.

You couldn’t help what happened next.

Within seconds, you fell to the floor, curling up into a ball with your face in your hands, bawling.

Irene oh why did life have to test you so.

Your cries were muffled by your legs as you folded up, pulling at your hair. You couldn’t deal with all of this right now. First you were running around outside getting groceries and your medication from Walgreens, the next you came home to everything being out of order?

Everything was against you.

At some point, you couldn’t even tell just how long you were sitting on the ground until the doorbell rang.

Apparently, life decided to make things even worse by having someone wait at your door.

Great.

Just great.

Your legs shaked as you slowly stood up, wiping the tears from your cheeks, hoping whoever was there wouldn’t notice.

After making your way to the door, your shaking hands slowly opened it, revealing a smiley Travis with a plastic bag in his hands.

His grin was almost as blinding as the rays of sun behind him.

“Hey! I thought I’d stop by to see how my Lovely was doing-” He stopped mid-sentence as he processed your disheveled appearance, a frown quickly growing on his face. “What’s wrong?” You tried to keep yourself in check, holding back your tears, but the worried look on his face? Nothing could hold you back anymore.

You sniffled once before rushing in to hug him, tightly squeezing, surprising the man.

As you stuffed your face into his chest, hiding your face from him, he slowly led you inside your house, closing the door behind him before the two of you sat on your couch.

You groaned into his chest, just letting your tears fall freely as he held you close. He played with your hair, carefully moving it out of your face and tucking it behind your ear, before patting your head while softly shushing you.

The two of you just sat there for a while, allowing you to release all your anger and anxiety through your tears as he hugged you.

Your boyfriend always was the best at comforting you when you needed it most.

As it seemed your tears were stopping, and you were left hiccuping, you moved back to look up at Travis, apologizing rapidly.

“Hey, hey, there’s no need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He slowly rubbed your back as he softly spoke. “Do you think you can tell me what’s bothering you?” You slowly nodded as you began to tell him all about what happened today, and how your anxiety was through the roof with it all. You felt like you were losing your mind.

He hummed as you recounted the events prior to your crying.

“I can help you out with it all if you’d like, we can face it all together!” He smiled as pumped his fist into the air, before kissing you on the forehead. “You know you can always just reach out if you need help, alright? I’ll always be here.”

You nodded with a smile. He was right, you had someone in your life who cared about you, someone to rely on. You can’t forget that. 

But you couldn’t help but slowly turn to the plastic bag sitting next to Travis' curiosity. What was in it?

He picked it up, opening it to show you the abundance of snacks he had brought along with him.

“A little bunch of presents I decided to get you during the day.” He chuckled, cupping your face in his palm, letting his thumb trace the tear stains on your cheeks.

“But before we get started on those chores, how about a snack, okay?”

@lovelaurs, 2024. do not repost this work in any way!

[therethatstar]

im working on a short phumpeem au.

something about soulmates. or perhaps nothing about soulmates. just phum losing his mind over how pretty peem is. you know…the old regular shmegular

here’s a little peak. the rest will be edited and posted … whenever 😅

***

In the realism of it all, soulmates don’t exist.

Phum knows this among many other things.

You meet people, you fall in love and the world doesn’t set on fire and you don’t perish into flames.

Yet, it’s an idealism that humans fall back into, the theory of your soul being just one half of another.

And Phum thinks about it sometimes. Soulmates.

He sometimes wondered what it would be like to meet his soulmate. If the stars will collapse, if the world will stop spinning. Will the earth orbits its focus until it sinks and immerses itself into the very moment where he looks into his soulmate’s eyes for the first time.

Because Phum feels it, regardless of realism and idealism, an invisible grip that tips over in his chest. And it’s the whole ordeal, hook line and sinker. And yet, it’s not. The world doesn’t stop, the constellation above him doesn't come crashing down. Phum’s breath isn’t being stolen and his eyes aren’t popping out of his skull. In all the ways it has been told over and over in books and movies.

And yet it’s all of those things. Phum looks into the man’s eyes, and everything shifts, ever so slightly. His heart rate is a racketing mess and he feels his breath get knocked out of his chest. And everything stops, yet it doesn’t. It’s all in his head, it’s in the pure need to taste the moment on his tongue; relishing in the way the desire is seeping through the veins that run through every core of his being and he craves for it so fervidly that he’s willing to drink in the lies. The abstract idea of soulmates.

And perhaps, when it all comes down to it, soulmates is merely a deceptive belief to one’s mind; but Phum, for once, doesn’t mind selling his soul and conscience to such false perception of reality. Just once.

Because after all, soulmates never really deal with realism.

Phum can hear the meat sizzling on the stone pan as Pun sings along to something by Radiohead and every time his eyes drift to the man across from the bar countertop, the man is looking at him. Entirely too confident to seem shameless about it.

Phum averts his eyes to the few customers that they have and he feels the way his chest tightens from being under such scrutinizing eyes, lack of breath centering around his heart.

“You got a chef with good music taste back there,” the man points his eyes towards the kitchen, fingers grazing the glass of his drink, lips lifted subtly.

Phum wants to laugh, Pun is hardly a chef and Radiohead is overrated but he’s not about to say that.

Phum smiles back, “I’ll make sure to let him know.”

The man doesn’t say anything to that, eyes quietly watching. He glances down at Phum's shirt and Phum’s gaze naturally follows him, “fan of Naruto?”

“Who isn’t a fan of Kakashi Hatake?”

The man raises his eyes at that, chuckling under his breath, “so a fan of pretty looking boys.”

The man quirks his mouth so slightly, sizing Phum up and Phum knows that he knows Phum is watching him. He sips the drink from the frosted glass and there’s this hint of shy abrasiveness like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Like he doesn’t know what he looks like to Phum. Or at least, he wants Phum to think so. It’s for show, Phum knows this among many other things but yet, he trips over over regardless. Head first into a void that feels completely bottomless, sucking him into the pit blackness.

“You could say that,” Phum answers him, eyes shifting to the door in case they have any customers coming in. He turns back to the man who sits there, looking at him, arms crossed over the hardwood countertop, so fucking pretty under the cheap lamplights and Phum never had such a desire to see someone in broad daylight before, wondering if the sun has anything on someone that looks like the man sitting across from him.

The wetness of the man’s lips is all too distracting and Phum’s heart yanks. It hasn’t stopped yanking ever since this man stepped into the restaurant. And he has all of Phum’s attention with the way he’s staring at him under his dark lashes, “do I pass the test?”

Phum must have got all up in his head because his brain comes to an immediate halt as he looks away from his shiny lips, “huh?”

“You like boys who are pretty. Do I pass the test?”

He stares at Phum, at Kakashi on his shirt, then right into his eyes. Waiting. Anticipating. Like he knows the response Phum would give. Like Phum is just one of the guys. Just a guy. Someone. No one altogether.

Phum doesn’t answer, instead he says, “can I have your name?”

Because among other things, Phum needs to know his name. From the moment the man stepped inside the diner, Phum’s heart had tossed a line to him and sank its hook in, catching on the vessels and he’s so drawn to this practically stranger of man that his heart and body and mind no longer feel like they belong to him.

And soulmates aren’t real. Phum reminds himself.

The man squints his eyes at him, there are small wrinkles at the corners of his brown orbs and Phum has the sudden urge to sooth them away with his fingers, his mouth.

“Normally, you tell yours first before you ask for someone else’s.”

“Not big on formally.”

This time the man laughs, genuinely laughing, “or subtlety. It’s Peem. Since you seem so eager to know.”

Peem.

Phum easily gives in, “I was.”

Peem is looking at him now, dark, measured, almost unabashedly staring at him, almost shamelessly. Almost. Phum wouldn’t even mind that. Shamelessness would look ridiculously good on Peem, all bare and slicked with sweat under the dim light. Peem meets his eyes and they stay there. “Your place or mine?”

And Phum is no longer 19, freshly entering university and learning the normality of hooking up for the sake of hooking up. Phum is in his mid 20s and he has done this far too many times. Because sex is sex. Desire feeds desire. And afterall, humans are just the animals that feed on intimate connections. Yet his brain short circuits at the blunt suggestion, something rewires, reroutes, shifts its entire focal point, “um…give me 30 minutes. We close in 30 minutes.”

Peem makes a face at that, nose slightly scrunched up and it’s cute. It’s such a misleading front he’s putting up. A contradiction to the way he dresses all in black and the way he talks like he wants Phum to taste his names on his lips, over and over. Peem looks far too lethal for someone who looks like the softest, sweetest, prettiest thing anyone has ever seen.

“I give you 10 minutes, max. I’m not waiting any longer.”

Demanding. Entirely too fucking certain. Like he knows Phum isn’t much of a type to put up a fight. Like he has Phum exactly where he wants him, weak and pathetic under his mercy.

And Peem must have known this. How ethereal he is under these artificial restaurant lights, an enticing little thing with the way the glint of the fainted brightness hits him just right, gleaming at the high of his cheekbones. And Phum can see the dip of his thin waist underneath the silk button down, imagining what it would be like to imprint his fingers on the curve of his hips, feeling the flex of his muscles between his hands.

“Do you–” and Phum lets the words trail off, a little too dazed, brian and mouth running on a different frequency. There are questions that sit at the tip of his tongue. Do you like quiet walks under the moonlit night? Do you like your hand being held? Do you always size men down to their knees? Do you like being kissed? On the lips. At the curve of your long neck. Between your shoulder blades. Between your legs after I make you wet down there. Instead, Phum asks, “do you always get what you want?”

And perhaps, he’s throwing Peem off a loop but Phum isn’t trying too, he’s genuinely curious if Peem does it on purpose. Demands for what he wants, knowing that he will get it. Inevitably.

Peem doesn’t answer, instead he slips off the stool, placing the dollar bills on the countertop, glancing back at Phum. At his lips, his gaze lingers, “guess we’ll find out.”

[bitter69uk]

Born on this day: genuinely outrageous maverick British auteur Ken Russell (3 July 1927 – 27 November 2011), whose best films pack a jolt of baroque bad taste and an eye for the grotesque. As critic Mark Kermode correctly assessed, Russell “proved that British cinema didn't have to be about kitchen-sink realism —it could be every bit as flamboyant Fellini.” Of course, I love Russell’s bona fide masterworks like Women in Love (1969) (I certainly appreciate Oliver Reed and Alan Bates’ nude wrestling scene) and The Devils (1971). But I also like his lesser regarded later works like Valentino (1977), Crimes of Passion (1984), Gothic (1986), The Lair of the White Worm (1988) and Whore (1991). And I'm eternally grateful to Russell for giving the opportunity for the glorious sex-kitten-gone-berserk Ann-Margret (pictured) and hot tamale Tina Turner to go full-tilt batshit crazy in Tommy (1975)!

[cricketnationrise]

Congratulations 🎉 500 followers is amazing!! Lots of people out there with good taste 😉

My prompt:

2205

Catherine

Backyard of the Austin farmhouse

Into the Mystic

okay gonna be honest here. i have no idea what happened here. like, i really adore what i wrote, but i have NO EARTHLY IDEA where it came from or if it's even at all close to what you were aiming for. lots of catherine/arthur feels ahead and like, a little magical realism? i guess? anyway here's wonderwall...

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

10:05pm, texas farmhouse

It’s odd, really, that an ocean and half a continent away from their shared home, that Arthur’s spirit feels so strong here. Here, in Henry and Alex’s backyard, deep in the heart of Texas.

The boys—they’re still boys, no matter that they’re closer to forty than thirty—are inside, cleaning dishes, rinsing out bottles. Catherine can see them through the window above the sink, laughing and chatting easily before Alex flicks water in her son’s face. The affronted look on Henry’s face sends her right down memory lane, a slideshow of the dozens of times she and Arthur did the same thing playing in her mind.

It took a while, a shove from Bea, and a lot of therapy, but the memories no longer hurt her, no longer make her feel like her soul is being ripped away every time she thinks about her husband. Now, after everything, she can let the memories pass through like a draft through windchimes; she might get knocked around, but what sweet melodies they make.

A cool breeze makes Catherine pull the quilt Alex draped over her earlier closer around her shoulders and she looks out over the dark backyard. The only light is from the stars, the crescent moon, the dying embers, and the occasional lightning bug. Catherine inhales deeply, breathing in the smell of the earth, of burning wood, of the lingering scent of the beer that Alex knocked off the picnic table earlier. The sound of crickets chirping is accompanied by grass rustling in the breeze and the quiet pops of the fire. It’s peaceful here, in this place where there’s more sky than anything else—a sky big enough for dreams and memories alike.

Arthur would have loved it here. He would have been first in line to learn how to work the grill from Alex. He would have laughed easily at their son’s carefree antics. He would have been their biggest supporter in buying this place. Catherine knows that their siblings were confused, Alex’s parents were a little more understanding, but Arthur— Arthur would have seen the house for what it is: a sanctuary, a place to recharge, a place where they can truly be themselves, stripped of the pressures of both royalty and politics.

She knows that they chose Texas for Alex, but the feel of the place has more than a little to do with Henry; Catherine finds echoes of the cottage in Wales around every corner. The farmhouse is a monument to the love they have for each other and to their families. The house is so full of affection and care that one could almost taste them, almost trip over them on the way to the kettle. 

Another breeze sweeps through the yard and Catherine shivers, but not from the chill this time. She can feel something—someone—here with her now. She gets a whiff of Arthur’s cologne, a faint trace of pine and leather that always made her feel safe. She holds her breath, and she can faintly hear Arthur’s laugh, bright and full, over the sound of her heartbeat. Impossibly, she feels the weight of an arm across her shoulders, tucking her close into the faded imprint of a warm chest.

The back door opens and the boys’ chatter spills out along with the kitchen light. Their presence breaks the spell the night was weaving around her, but between more jokes and reminiscing, between dessert and a cup of decaf, Catherine feels ghostly fingers slip between her own, and hold tight.

[afterthefeast]

ok while i may be a self-professed hater i do actually really want this season of doctor who to be good but i’m just not feeling it. i liked boom more than the first two, but i have this overall sense that it’s all a bit…empty?? ncuti gatwa has a great energy as the doctor, his acting is great but it’s not backed up by the writing. worldbuilding is a complicated topic in doctor who given that it basically amounts to “introduce a cool new concept every week”, but for all of new who at least the universe has felt incredibly lived in. like there’s always been the impression that all of these lives are going on around the doctor regardless of them and that just serves to underline their mythos as a wayward traveler. the planets visited have felt connected to a wider universe even if it’s only through rtd’s kitchen sink realism or moffat’s continuity boners. aesthetically as well they’ve always been kinda grimy or lived-in. whereas now i feel like there’s this sense that these episodes are just happening in their own little bubble, divorced from any wider context or universe, and it makes them feel empty. i can’t put my finger on why this is, though i think the conscious effort to reboot the show is very much responsible by sort of…severing ties to any previous context. and i do think the disney production means aesthetically this feels too polished. also the writing generally has felt shallow; doctor who for the sake of doctor who rather than telling a story for its own sake.

also i very much think the fifteen/ruby dynamic has been very rushed — they’re cute but there’s no conflict and by not showing us that six month time skip we’re being asked to believe in a friendship that for us has only been around for a few weeks. comparing it to previous companion dynamics rose & nine got on well but there was a period of initial awkwardness and distance that made their later friendship the sweeter; martha & ten obviously had a whole lot of interpersonal juice based on his rose hangups; ten & donna had their whole vitriolic initial meeting; amy & eleven had SO much shit etc etc. whereas ruby & fifteen are just omg besties already with no history to back it up. also i think ruby’s a bit flat — i know she’s looking for her mum but it’s hard to really put a finger on her personality beyond Nice Girl.

idk this is all just mindless venting, there’s a fair amount to like with these episodes and i’m hoping that by bringing us back to wales and having some ruby focus (hopefully) next ep will turn it round. but so far these episodes just feel a bit shallow and nothingburger to me and it’s disappointing.

[builtyouahousefromabrokenhome]

Coming in 2025 with @bottom-harry-ficfest !

BLUE EYES LOOK MY WAY (MAKE TODAY MY LUCKY DAY) ⋆ 1960s ⋆ Ice hockey ⋆ Sheffield ⋆ kitchen sink realism ⋆ angst and fluff and smut ⋆

November 1968. Harry has to quit the Liverpool College of Art and go back home to Sheffield to work in the steel mill, after his step-dad died and left his family with debts and too many mouths to feed. But that also means Harry gets to catch his local ice hockey team's games again. And the Sheffield Steelers have two new players who could turn the season around - maybe even Harry’s whole life …

Writing for prompt 22: Louis as hockey player (or some kind of sport idc) and Harry as a puck bunny (or wtv bunny for the sport if you change it)

[alexanderwales]

I finished Austin Grossman's Fight Me a week ago and I've been letting it marinate, but my final verdict is that I didn't like it very much. Some non-specific spoilers follow.

There were a lot of things that I liked in it, and the prose was good, but it never really felt like it came together. We open with the death of Michael Ferris and the members of a former teenage super team all being thrust back together by having been brought low, and I think my issue is that this is mostly just cause for meditation on the past.

I mean, that does seem to be what the novel is about, the idea of wanting to become someone, to seize some impossible destiny that seems like it might be yours, and to find that it's just not going to happen, that the future you were promised is maybe just something you need to make on your own.

As a message ... fine, sure, I agree. I feel that too. Growing up it felt like there was, somehow, a plan, and of course there is no plan.

Narratively, it sucks the fat one. I don't think you need to have a grand conclusion that ties everything together and fires off all the chekov's guns, but you need something. Instead, it felt like a sputtering anticlimax, and I just did not enjoy it very much, even if I have a little appreciation of it as an artistically consistent theme.

I guess if I had to sum it up, this is superhero fiction that has a grim realism to its characters but not anything else. The realism is not in the powers, in the worldbuilding, or anything like that, it's just flawed characters who nonetheless dress up in spandex and fight crime. The whole kitchen sink is there, we've got cyberpunk supersoldiers, we've got faeries, we've got mad scientists and magicians and all kinds of other stuff, but it's mostly about not achieving your dreams, or even really understanding what your dreams are.

(I am a worldbuilding nerd, and I wanted more worldbuilding, but I think this is a me problem, because it is very clearly not what this novel is interested in, much to my disappointment. From what we do see, there's too much government authority in play, in a way that rankles me and goes against the spirit of the superhero genre.)

If I had to pinpoint when I stopped enjoying it as much, it would be about three quarters of the way through. The story is told with long flashback sections, and I was getting the feeling that I would have liked it better if it were arranged more conventionally. On reflection, I don't think that's actually true, but it's when I was starting to have these feelings that there was just no resolution, just a non-ending on the horizon, that the scenes we were being shown weren't really building to anything, they were instead building to nothing.

And I have other quibbles with the book, but they're more to do with individual plot points or questionable thematic elements. I don't think it's earned that kind of engagement from me, and I have no enthusiasm to talk about the book with anyone. Give me six months and I'll probably not have given it another thought.

[greyskyflowers]

Bits and Pieces of fics I'll probably never finish:

MarcoAce

Reincarnation/magical realism/modern AU

Ace inherits an old house on the coast from Shanks. The house is a mess and full of strange things but he has a great time fixing it up.

Along the way he learns about the people who lived in the house before him, gets a visit from his younger brother and his friends, and meets an odd group of people from town that seem to have adopted him as one of their own. He also meets a man named Marco.

~~

Ace has rarely felt as lost as he does standing in front of his new home.

The house is two stories and a shadow of what it once must have been, with a beautiful porch now all rotten and threatening to fall in. The house might have been painted a pretty slate color at on point but was now a mess of dirt, salt and rot

It was liveable though and that's all that matters. It's with a strong mix of excitement and dread that he opens the door.

Dust bellows out and the shadows peek around the corners to see who's visiting.

The light in the kitchen is on but when he goes in to investigate the room is dark and the bulb broken.

The wallpaper reachs out and tugs gently at his hair when he walks past.

~~

He sweeps the shadows back to their corners, now clean enough for them to begrudgingly stay there

He takes down the old lace curtains and goes to soak them in water, hoping he might be able to save some of them. They're hard with age and grey with dust but beautifully made and look to have been snow white at one point.

He cleans all the cabinets and doors, sweeping out the bad and old, opening the windows to call in the good.

The day tumbles in as sunlight on floor that has been in the dark for years. Spiders tiptoe over the floor to see where they can hang their own lacey and silky webs.

He finds some old wood by the fireplace in the main room and decides that until he gets the heating working again, this will work fine.

The wood catches easily, incredibly dry and old as it is. It burns blue green for a moment before fading to the normal red yellow, the flames cast shadows that look like feathers on the walls.

He shakes out the old welcome mat on the front porch and leaves an iron coin under it when he sets it back down. He keeps the door open behind him.

Each room he enteres for the first time is given a soft greeting and the windows propped open.

~~

He's painting one of the ground floor bedrooms when someone knocks at the door. He's right in the middle of doing the small work around the window though so he debates ignoring it.

The paintbrush slips out of his fingers and lands on the one of the tarps he had put down. Well... he might as well get the door since he was to climb off the ladder now anyway.

~~

Ace feels his breath catch when he looked at it. It was stunning.

"I didn't even know that they came in this color."

Marco uses the hem of his shirt to dry it off.

"The ocean does strange things sometimes. Red pearls hardly seem that odd when you think about it."

He looks at Ace from the corner of his eye and holds out his hand to drop the pearl into the younger man's hand. It falls to his palm like a drop of blood.

"You should keep it. Maybe if we find enough you can make a necklace."

Ace rolls the red pearl around between his finger, it looks like glass in the light and is surprisingly heavy.

"You think I could pull off a whole necklace of these?" He means it as a joke but Marco doesn't take it that way.

"Yes." He says without hesitant.

"Oh."

Ace lets the silence hang between them. He feels like he missed something but isn't sure what it was.

~~

His toes sink into the sand and the water throws foam at his ankles. It's cold and grey today.

"Are you cold?" Marco seems surprised.

"Yeah. I get cold easy, Luffy always made fun of me for it when we were younger. He'd be running around bare chested and in shorts all year around and I'd start bundling up early fall."

"That's funny. You seem more like the type to be warm all the time."

Ace grins. "Are you saying I'm hot?"

Marco laughs and the shoreline doesn't seem as colorless as it had earlier.

~~

Zoro with his thrift shop gold earrings and dyed green hair that only he could pull off. Scars from past fights still color his skin and the scars are silver lines when the sun catches them. He's always half a step behind his brother.

Usopp has his thick curls piled on top of his head in a messy bun and is telling a story about the time he saved someone from drowning to anyone close enough to listen.

Chopper, graduated high school and then college so young but so smart. Losing his way before managing to find a place with Luffy. Every part of him glows in shades of brown and gold in the afternoon sun.

Franky has sleeves of both arms, black and grey ink that makes designs like gears and stars and other pieces of metal. It's stunning artwork that almost looks real, his wife Robin the one who had done all of it.

Robin who always seems to know more than you. She works remote, no one knowing what she does or if they do they're not telling Ace. Whatever it is doesn't need her to work often and pays very well. It's shady but so is Robin, so it works.

Brook, a older man who had outlived everyone he loved. He had been absorbed into the little group quickly and he was thriving. A collection of terrible jokes, beautiful music, and life stories that seems straight out of a fantasy book.

Nami waves her phone around trying to get service. Her peach, gold hair spills down her back in rings and she looks annoyed. Her girlfriend is a blue blob on her phone that's laughing at her, if the airy giggle cutting in and out was any indication.

Luffy has the strawhat their godfather had given him when he was younger hanging from his neck. The man was a menace. Makino and Benn the only people that could keep him in line. His hair looks like ink in the sun and his shoulders are broader than last time Ace had seen him.

It makes something catch in his chest that he'd missed it.

~~

The lock is rusted and heavy. He tugs on it and lets Luffy try his hand at it too.

"Maybe we can pick it somehow?"

The little built in hideaway is interesting and he'd like to keep it if they could avoid damaging it while trying to open it.

Luffy rubs his chin and looks at the opening of the lock.

"Nami!" He bellows.

Ace rears back at the yell right next to his ear and faintly hears something yelled back.

Luffy stands up and goes to the window, leaning out if it.

"We need you to pick a lock!"

Ace tunes them out as he keeps fiddling with the lock until he hears heels coming up the stairs.

Nami is vivid in the bare and dusty room, all bright colors and loud personality.

Ace moves to the side to let her look at the lock.

"Oh, yeah. I can do this."

She unrolls a small cloth bundle she has with her and grabs some tools to work with.

Ace watches her scrap off some of the rust to get into the keyhole and start carefully moving the picks.

"And.. there."

The lock falls to the floor with a heavy thud.

She steps back and lets Ace in front of the little cabinet.

"You think it's food?"

Ace makes a face.

"I hope not. We couldn't eat it anyway... I mean, could we? I guess it depends what it was."

Nami looks disgusted.

"I'm getting Zoro up here to watch you two. I refuse to watch you morons eat whatever comes out of there."

She leans out the window and yells down at Zoro before turning and leaving the room in a kick up of dust.

The little door is still shut and it seems like the house is holding its breath.

The wood has swollen over time, and it takes a decent amount of pulling before it gives, Ace tumbling back on his butt when it suddenly opens.

Old air seeps out in a grateful breath, blowing back his hair and Luffy's hat flutters against his back. The breeze takes off towards the window and is gone.

Enough light shines in to start cautiously sneaking a look into the dark, cool hole in the wall.

"Water?"

He pulls out a few jars with clear liquid in it. He twists the top off and recoils instantly.

"Holy shit, That's moonshine." He takes another tentative sniff. "Nope, I take it back. That's lighterfluid. No human should drink this."

He shoves the cap back on and rubs his eyes. Luffy snags the jar with a whoop.

"Zoro will love these. Gimme."

The jars are swept up in skinny arms and Luffy takes off down the stair already calling for his best friend.

With a shake to clear his head, Ace is back to seeing what he can find.

He pulls out a small cloth bag, some small seeds falling into his hand when he opens it.

He can't tell what they where but maybe he can ask Robin or Usopp when he goes back downstairs. They carefully go back in their bag before being set aside.

He pulls out another piece of cloth. It's soft with wear and ragged like it had been torn from something. There's a skull on the front with maybe smoke curling around it? Ace looks closer, a mustache? He can't help the small laugh that escapes him, what a weird thing to hide away.

There are a few more odds and ends that he pulls out. Some old coins, a wicked knife with a curved handle, a small jar of sand all stuck in a clump, and way in the back was a book.

He pulls it out last, dusty and bulging with pages stuffed between the old leather that binds it all together.

He flips it over and brushes the dust off the cover. It's blank but clearly well loved, with ink and paint along the edges and the occasional stray drop on the front.

He opens it carefully, scared it will break in his hands but it holds strong.

It's a sketchbook.

He turns each page with wonder. Paintings of the sea that smelled of salt and leave his fingers wet, trees that wave their leaves at him as he turns the pages, ink drawings of a couple dancing with a dressed flaring up around the woman as she twirls into the man's arms.

Occassionally a photo was stuck in. The same dark haired man and smiling woman in every one.

They look happy.

The second to last page has a photo of just the woman, sitting on the window seat he recognizes from one of the other upstairs rooms. She looks like she was watching someone out the window, hand held up like she was going to wave and a happy look on her face. The other hand was curled around her belly, a very clear baby bump visible under the blue of the dress.

He turns the final page, not expecting anything else but a dried flower falls into his lap.

Carefully picked up by the stem he holds it up, this he recognizes. It's a hibiscus flower, more of a deep red than the vibrant pink he usually associates with them but otherwise age has been kind to the flower.

It's carefully tucked back into the book and he gathers everything up in his arms before carefully taking it downstairs.

Robin is in the kitchen when he comes down, looking at the stuff in his arms with a raised eye brow.

"Hey Robin, do you know what these are? Like what plant they might be?"

He fishes out the little bag and hands them to the older women. She lets out a hum as she carefully opens it. The seeds are a mix of brown, fuzzy circles like shapes and tiny, ovals with some fluff at the top.

"I think these are hibiscus seeds." She carefully rolls the larger ones to one side of her hand and pokes at the smaller ones. "I'm not sure what these are. Usopp might know."

Almost like he'd been called, Usopp tumbles in the kitchen in a rush of boots on wood and the smell of sunshine.

"Have you guys seen Sanji? I stole some cookies he made for Nami and I think he knows."

"No, we haven't. May we steal you for a moment though?"

"Sure!"

Robin holds out the seeds for him to see.

"Ace would like help identifying these. I belive the one on the left are hibiscus but am unsure of the other one."

Usopp rubs his chin and looks at them closer.

"The one is definitely hibiscus. The other one is a wildflower, maybe goldenrod?"

Chopper run into the room and grabs at Usopp's pants.

"He knows! He knows about the cookies!"

The both take off around the corner and leave Robin and Ace in the dust.

He takes the seeds back and makes sure they're safely back in the bag.

"Thanks. Probably would have taken me forever."

"Of course." She smiles and looks out the window.

"I think your brother has decided it's time for us to move along."

Ace looks out the window and watches everyone climb into their monstrosity of an RV that's 100% not legal to drive but doesn't seem to stop them. There's fruit trees growing from the top and a giant lion painted on the side that they affectionately call Sunny. Luffy hangs from the side while Franky finishes something up under the hood.

~~

He couldn't help the way his eyes dart from Luffy to Zoro and back.

"Umm.. er..." He isn't sure how to ask.

Zoro looks pleased that he'd think that but they both shake their heads.

"No, his name is Tora-o! Besides, Zoro and Sanji are dating."

"Really?" He can't help the surprise in his voice and watches Zoro flush while smacking Luffy on the head. He can't say he saw that one coming but he can kind of see it if he thinks about it.

Sanji is elegant, if you ignore the fact that he can have a hell of a temper when provoked. He's a good balance for the wilderness that live dunder Zoro's skin.

Sanji has a goal and aspirations and while Zoro has goals as well, he's content to go where the flow takes him.

They go together well.

"Sanji spoils Zoro and makes him special stuff to eat but not me."

Ace laughs at the face Luffy makes. Always worried more about food than anything else.

~~

"You like the water a lot than, huh?"

Marco smiles and turns his gaze out to the horizon.

"I think I must have been unable to swim in a past life. I can't seem to get very far from the shore before it calls me back."

Ace pulls his knees up and rests his chin on them.

"You know, most people would have said they were a fish in their past life if they love water."

He knocks shoulders with the other man to show his teasing.

Marco bumps him back and stretches his legs out so the waves can pull at his feet.

"Nah. I think sometimes we love something so much because we must have been denied it at some point."

"So not a fish, maybe a desert lizard or something. Oh! A cactus!"

Marco laughs. "I was thinking more along the lines of maybe a bird. Although I suppose a cactus is possible."

~~

"My mom died giving birth to me, so I never knew her. My dad was.. we were never really close. He was gone a lot. I think he loved me but.." Ace trails off.

Thunder rumbles outside and shakes the window panes.

"I almost drowned when I was younger. My dad lost track of me and I went under. He got me out but the water in my lungs was dirty and gave me nasty infection. It was touch and go for awhile. I think he blamed himself. We were never the same after that and he died 2 years later."

The smell of cedar curls out of the fire to whisper against his cheek.

Marco's eyes burn indigo and gold from the fire, harsh shadows cast across his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure your mother loved you very much and your dad too. Sometimes it can be hard to show how much you care."

~~

Shanks was unusually stonefaced at the door, Benn next to him finishing a cigarette.

"Hey Shanks. I didn't know you were coming...?" He leaves his greeting open ended with hopes of getting a clue on what was happening but he doesn't get anything.

"Hey kid. Thought we'd swing by, see how it's going."

He lets them in and a door upstairs slams shut.

They all look up and Ace leds them to the kitchen when nothing else happens.

"You want a drink?"

"Yeah, actually that'd be great."

They don't say anything else while Ace gets the drinks and it's making him sweat.

He puts the drinks down and follows suit, sitting at the old oak table across from the two men and waits. He hasn't hung a clock yet but the sound of one ticking can be heard loud and clear.

A piece of the ceiling that he hasn't gotten around to fixing yet falls on Shanks head, who grumbls and looks up before taking a big drink.

"I know, I know."

He takes a deep breath and looks Ace in the eyes.

"Alright, this is something I should have done years ago but I wasn't sure how to do it. Probably didn't want to if I'm honest."

Ace swallows nervously and shots a look at Benn, who lifts another cigarette and lights it without saying anything.

"I told you when I gave you the house that'd I'd been holding onto it for someone. I was. It was someone who had been like a father to me growing up. His name was Roger and he lived here with his wife, Rouge."

He stops and takes another drink.

"Rouge died and Roger disappeared. If I'm being honest, I think he took off somewhere to die of a broken heart. He was devastated. Rouge would have kicked his ass if she knew what he'd done but he didn't know how to live without her anymore. They'd lived in this house with the intention of raising a family and it ended up empty."

"I'm sorry."

Ace isnt really sure what to say but it's clear this is hard for Shanks.

"It wasn't a good situation and he didn't handle it well. Roger was a good man. People who didn't knew him may say otherwise but he always did right by me. He took care of Rouge and his friends, everyone else was unimportant. Which, I suppose, may make him a bad man in a lot of people's eyes."

He puts the drink down and reaches in his pocket to take out a folded photo. He gazes at it for a moment before setting it down and sliding it over to Ace.

It was the couple. The man and women he'd seen in the sketchbook and now had names for, Rouge and Roger.

"I found some of their stuff. I didn't think about if you'd wa-... would you like it?"

It was hard to look away from the couple but he forced himself to look up.

"No. That's actually why we're here. Rogue and Roger were your parents."

The house is quiet, almost as quiet as the first time Ace had stepped foot in it.

"I don't understand. People always told me that my mom died giving birth to me and I knew my dad."

Benn puts out his cigarette when Shanks doesn't say anything and takes over.

"A friend of your dad took you in. We thought he'd be the best option. As for your mom, she did die during childbirth. Rouge lived long enough to hold you and give you your name before she died."

He wants to deny it. He wants to yell, tell them this was a stupid joke or that it doesn't make sense.

It does though. He'd never asked too much about his mom, already ached for a mother he never got to know and details would just hurt more. The man who he had known as his father hadn't looked like him. He doesn't doubt that the man cared but small things that hadn't made sense at the time now start to.

All of the sudden the photo is cruel. He can see his freckles on her face, his dark hair and stormy eyes on him, can see the shape of his face and eyes in both of them. All of it was looking back at him from a photo older than he was.

"This is cruel." His eyes sting but it wasn't anything to how his chest aches. "This is the cruelest thing you could have ever done to me."

They don't say anything and he doesn't want them to.

"Get out."

"...I'm sorry, Ace."

"Just get out." The front door is already open and he follows them as far as the threshold.

"They loved you." Shanks says.

"What am I suppose to do with that? What's suppose to hurt less in this situation? The idea that mom left because she died and Roger made the decision to leave because I wasn't enough of a reason to live or they loved me and you kept that from me?"

The door closes with a heavy sound and echoes through an empty house.

~~

[kelliealtogether]

Thank you for the tag, @tinyarmedtrex!

From the next chapter of This Is a Forgery:

“Welcome back, honey,” Lynch said as soon as Adam stepped over the threshold. He sat on the living room sofa, long legs stretched out so his bare feet rested on the coffee table, pants riding up just enough to expose the shapely bones of crossed ankles. Like the times Adam saw him before, Lynch wore dark jeans and a black v-neck shirt. The casualness of the outfit corresponded with his surroundings though. It could have been because the Bureau was footing the bill for the place, or because they were going to accuracy of setting, but everything in the apartment looked inexpensive but well-used, possibly secondhand. With the exception of a nice speaker on top of the entertainment center — which held a modest flat screen television — nothing fanciful existed in the apartment, but it couldn’t be called sterile. Standard issue white paint coated the walls, but everything other than the gray cloth couch was dark wood or leather — the coffee table, the two-person kitchen set tucked in a corner, the pair of armchairs flanking the sofa. In other words, it was nothing like Adam expected from Ronan Lynch. He thought there’d be more metal. A movie poster or two. Maybe something with cars. “Don’t call me that,” Adam told him as soon as the door shut behind him. “Do not call me that. Or babe. Or sweetheart. Whatever other name crosses your mind, I think it's best you keep it there.”  “Damn,” Ronan replied. “I really thought you’d go all-in on realism.”  “When was the last time you called someone honey?”  Lynch shrugged a shoulder, and after looking at Adam for a long moment, he dropped his feet to the floor and stood. “Been a while,” he said. “Are you going to stand by the door forever, or do you want a tour of your humble abode?”  A word other than humble would have been inaccurate. Only two doors led off the living room. One Adam could see was a bathroom from a glimpse of a sink and the mirror hanging above it. The other he had to assume was Lynch’s bedroom — through the partly open door, he could only see the side of a piece of furniture, but with the kitchen situated on the other side of a breakfast bar across the living room, Adam figured he assumed correctly.  Which meant as long as they lived in the apartment together, Adam would have no privacy. No space of his own.  Turning back to Lynch, Adam couldn’t stop himself from being curt when he said, “I don’t think I need a tour.” This was going to be awful. 

Tagging @werewolffeelings, @audikatia, and @singersargentboi if any of you are interested.

And have a bonus WIP of a different kind under the cut. 😌