#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

[waste-it-on-something-useful]

Such a mood.

Richard Burton as Jimmy Porter in Look Back in Anger (Tony Richardson, 1959)

[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

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 3 - The Figure Painter

Chapter Summary - Y/N visits a childhood friend to go over Seonghwa's odd invitation.

Series Masterlist

"And then he gave you a contract... Like from Fifty Shades of Gray?"

"I told you it's not a contract, he said it was an invitation."

"Honey, it literally gives you a place to sign at the bottom."

After Seonghwa had given me the envelope and left, I wasted no time in rushing over to my friend, Mia's, house to tell her everything. Mia and I had known each other since we were seven years old, hanging off of each other like leeches since. Her family was rich too, but unlike mine, they supported her artistic endeavors.

She was a painter, specializing in figure paintings and realism, and was also my voice of reason.

"I seriously don't know what to do," I whine, my head resting on her kitchen countertop.

"Well, what does it say? Like what does he want you to do?" She asks, her fingers twirling a teaspoon around her tea cup.

I glance down at the papers in front of me. So many rules were listed I struggled to even wrap my head around it.

"He wants me to move into their home," I say.

"Their home?" Mia clarifies. "As in other people?"

"I guess so?" I clear my throat as I continue. "I can remain as a dancer for the society as long as I don't practice for any longer than I need to be."

"Well, at least they're offering you some freedom." She mumbles sarcastically, taking a sip of her tea.

"Mia come on!" I cry out rather dramatically.

"I feel like there isn't much up for discussion here? Yes, it's weird and borderline controlling but when was the last time something exciting like this happened in your life?" She argues.

"I don't want to be controlled, Mia. This whole thing, it's just way above my pay grade. I had enough of it living with my parents, I don't need it in a romantic relationship too!" I point out. She lets out a sigh, nodding in understanding.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Mia runs a hand through her hair. "Okay, let's try a different approach. What things in there benefit you?"

"Uhm, I get to live in a big ass mansion free of charge," I say, my finger hovering over the bullet point. It sure would be better than the cheap studio apartment I live in now.

"You can never go wrong with a big ass mansion." She quips before I continue.

"It says... I have to be willing to, share myself?" I tilt my head with furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh, don't tell me they're the type to want a girl to homey hop." She seethes, leaning over the counter to read the paper. "Oh god, they are!" She exclaims.

"Just because you're monogamous doesn't mean you can judge!" I scold.

"I'm not judging, I'm cringing 'cause it's not for me." She says defensively. "If you're into that, I won't judge."

"Sure you won't."

"I might make fun of you a little, but you know I'll get over it!" She laughs. "Besides it's a bonus if they're all cute. I looked up Seonghwa and that Hongjoong guy and woo!" She whistles.

"Poor Mark." I tease, she gasps. "Listen, I don't know if I'm up for that either. I mean I don't even know who the others are, for all I know there could be a serial killer among them."

"Then call him." She states. "Call him and demand him to rewrite it on your terms."

"Would that work?" I ask, placing the papers back into a neat pile.

"He's a businessman, right? Of course, it would! Hell, you might even get to meet the others if you play your cards right." She says confidently. "You like this guy right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then fight for your own morals and boundaries, and if he doesn't accept that then move on." She says, moving over slightly to place her mug in the sink. "And if they try something, Mark and I will come over and beat them up for you."

"You and I both know Mark Lee is not going to beat anyone up." I laugh causing her to let out a snort.

"You're right, he could yap their ears off and give us time to escape the country though." She jokes, a wide grin spreading across her face.

I glance back down at the documents, genuinely contemplating for a moment. I hated the idea of being controlled by anyone again, let alone a bunch of men who, aside from 1, I have never had a conversation with in my life. But on top of that, it would be really nice to stay somewhere that didn't charge me almost my entire weekly pay for rent.

Plus Seonghwa was really good-looking, but was I really going to risk my freedom just because a cute guy gave me a second of his time? Mia was right, I needed to call him and set up some kind of meeting and get this document altered to my liking also, not just theirs.

"You're doing that thing again." Mia's voice cuts me out of my thoughts. "You know it's creepy when you stare off into space like that."

"Sorry, was just thinking about everything," I say softly, stuffing the document back into the envelope it came in.

"It's a lot, I know, but once you put your foot down like I know you can it'll all even out. You'll see." Mia was often right about these things, then again she was always the one to come up with the ideas that would get us into trouble growing up. I trusted her with things like this because I knew it would never leave the two of us, but trusting her to convince me to do something that could lead to me signing my life away? I was going to be a little more cautious of that.

"I should probably go, I got another show tonight," I say, hopping off of the seat I was perched on.

"Oh! I'm coming to the show next Monday! Don't mess up for me okay?" She says, skipping around the counter to give me a quick hug before I leave.

"Of course I won't, you're my lucky charm." I joke, pulling away and waving. She waves back, knowing I could find my way out.

I contemplated calling Seonghwa as I walked through the city streets. I let out an annoyed huff at the constant tug-of-war going on in my head. My finger hovered over the call button as I stared down at his contact. He'd probably show up tonight, but did I really want to decline his initial offer in person?

Without thinking I pressed call, holding my phone up to my ear as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. I felt a sick feeling of nerves in my stomach, the same feeling I felt before I went out on stage.

It rings 4 times before he picks up.

"I thought you'd think about it a while longer." He states, his voice rough. I take a deep breath before I speak.

"I'm declining your 'invitation'," I stated, making sure my voice sounded defiant.

"What?" He asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"You heard me. This... Contract is far too controlling for my liking and I refuse to subject myself to signing my life away for a man who only graced me with his presence last night." I say, earning some looks from passersby.

"Doll-"

"I'm not done! Look, I like you. But the only way this is happening is if we rewrite this to include my own terms. And I want whoever the hell you expect me to share myself with to be there also. No way in hell am I agreeing to something like that without even knowing what they look like." I say, rather rushed. Silence follows, and I look at my phone screen for a moment to make sure the phone call didn't end. As I placed the phone back to my ear I heard laughter.

"My, I really underestimated you didn't I?" Seonghwa chuckles. "A real firecracker you are, so unassuming up until now." I could feel his grin through the screen, and it made my blood boil.

"If you're going to waste my time-"

"Hold on a second, Doll." He says, his voice still laced with amusement. "I'll organize a dinner, how does that sound? You, me, and the others who helped write the original contract. That way you can meet everyone and get your boundaries heard."

I blinked in surprise at his offer. Was it really that easy? "You're serious?"

"Of course I am! Honestly, it's refreshing to talk to someone as pretty as you about business exchanges." He chuckles. "You have a show tonight, yes? Are you free Saturday night?"

I clear my throat. "Uhm, yeah?"

"Excellent, I'll send you the details tonight with your Gardenias." He says, hanging up before I can get another word in.

I gape at the phone, staring at it as I stand frozen in the middle of the street. I look around for a moment before continuing on my way.

I had a sinking feeling that this dinner was not going to be as easy as he made it seem. The others were most definitely businessmen also, co-owners of ATZ Corp. Me, a broke ballerina versus 8 businessmen on their own turf.

Pray for me.

[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!

[scavengedluxury]

I grew up in Nottingham and your photography connects me with my city like nothing else. I love how you're able to capture the places I used to walk past every day (usually slogging it from the centre to Radford Road) and bits that I'd never seen (such as broadmarsh in its heyday) as if you've pulled them straight from a memory.

I notice that your photographs focus a lot on the 'kitchen sink realism' of the city, like the details of a window, corridor, sign etc - is the intention behind that to show a place as it really looks to someone walking through it, or are you drawn to certain aspects because of their design, form etc? And do you feel a nostalgia for a place/time when looking at your own work, as I do?

Thanks, this is a good ask and there's not a straightforward answer! Sometimes it feels like taking photos of your friends, you can take an icily perfect portrait that says very little about the person and that's fine for what it is, but you could do something more interesting. You can take pretty calendar shots of pretty much any city but that process usually makes the place unrelatable and I'd rather do something that's a bit more intimate. I like to defamiliarize everyday sights and one thing I never understand is when people are shocked at seeing somewhere they recognise on a website where you can upload pretty much anything you want. I think there's a class element to that here, you're not supposed to celebrate where you live or where you come from if you're working class. But sometimes a nice image is just a nice image and I just like the way something looks! I don't know if nostalgia is quite the right word for looking at my own work, at least not in the sentimental sense, it feels more like solace, like this place is gone now but I was there to chronicle this little moment.

[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.”

[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)

[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.

[valentinahogdahlholm]

Non-existence//Icke-existens

I am terrified of the sound of time passing, Horrormovie soundtrack echoes through my eyes.

The body dies before the soul, And seven minutes is an eternity.

Dying like a flower full of seed, Kitchen sink realism

Grayness and goodgirl syndrom, So many lost chances when her eyes were fixed on stars, growing larger. Burning her skin

And so it ended before lightning struck and all became black, A non-existance in dark matter.

//

Jag är livrädd för klockans tickade, 

Skräckfilmssoundtrack ekar i mina ögon.

Kroppen dör före själen, 

Och sju minuter är en evighet. 

Vissnar som en blomma med pollentunga pistiller, 

När filmen som spelas är köksbbänksrealism. 

Gråskala och duktiga flickan syndrom. 

Så många förlorade chanser men hennes ögon fästs på stjärnor, som blev större, 

Brände hennes hud 

Och så tog det slut  innan blixten slog ned och allt blev svart. 

En icke-existens i mörk material 

[antiquatedsimmer]

"Holy Cats! Extra! Extra! Billions Lost in Stock Market Crash!"

The year is 1929, and your Sim finds themselves among the countless affected by the devastating aftermath of the stock market crash. With nothing left but shattered dreams, they must now begin anew!

No job, no home, and worst of all, NO MONEY :(

The goal of this Mini Decades challenge is to get your sims to build, live and have raised a family in a happy home by the beginning of world war 2. The great depression was considered over by the start of the 1940s

I didn't invent the Rags to Riches challenge or the Decades Challenge rules. I'm just sharing a slightly tweaked challenge I've been enjoying and thought others might like too :)

*currently working on a random encounter table to make this version a bit more unique

My Guide Below:

I am following these guides with basic tweaks

Rags2Riches Challenge

Decades Challenge, Follow the 1930s Rules

BAISCS OF THE CHALLENGE & MADATORY RULES

• You must follow technological limitations of that Era.

• No Cheats or Mods made to make the challenge easier allowed.

Being this is a Decades inspired Challenge the use of CC & mods for realism involving historical gameplay is fine. At the end of the day the point is to have fun!

• Choose your sims age & lifespan.

Whether your sim had a family & children prior to the crash is entirely up to you!

• Sleep in a public area or a friends home if you do not own a bed.

Historical Tweak:

During the Great Depression, the prevalence of "slums" or homeless encampments surged due to the housing crisis that plagued people in the early 1930s.

If you opt to invite Sims into your household, take on roommates, or utilize the FOR RENT Landlord ability to rent out beds, you can do so. However, it is imperative that you secure the necessary funds to construct housing for these new Sims.

• You may eat/ make dishes using public spaces or a friends home, however taking food with you is not allowed.

Historical Tweak:

In the tough times of the Great Depression, families were really struggling, which means your Sims' neighbors might not have much food to spare.

If your Sim wants to hit up a neighbor's kitchen for a meal, they gotta flip a coin:

Heads - They can grab a quick meal from the fridge.

Tails - Sorry, no luck. Time to try somewhere else.

So, your Sim might resort to begging if they are unable to feed themselves But hey, it could lead to some interesting stories and maybe even some new pals along the way.

• No selling through household inventory

• No selling through Plopsy - no internet in 1929

• No selling through Retail job due to the unemployment crisis, if you can afford to purchase a retail lot however you may open a retail business.

• You CAN sell items through the Food Stand or Market tables.

●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●

GOALS OF THE CHALLENGE

Build a home:

• At least 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen, dining room, living room, a study ( with a type writer if u have historical CC ), and a outdoor garden area.

MANDATORY STEPS FOR BUILDING A HOME:

In order to build a home you must have completed these steps:

• Reach level 7 Handiness and level 5 gardening before you begin building or placing items outside.

• Have 1 Bedroom with bed, a bathroom with toilet and shower, a living room and kitchen area.

• you must own at least one of these: Fridge or Icebox, sink, stove, stove, counter, table, chair, and couch.

• A blueprint for your house cost $500

HAVE A FAMILY

Find love, and have the opportunity to raise a family despite the hardships of the great depression!

• Get married

• Become a grandparent

MANDATORY STEPS FOR STARTING A FAMILY:

due to the affects of the great depression I feel like it would be unreasonable to expect a FULL HOUSE BUILT before you can start a family, so instead I'm tweaking that a bit.

You don't need a HUGE MANSION by the end of the challenge but a decent house should be expected. the point it escape being forced to live in a shack.

• For every new Sim joining the household, you must ensure there is a dedicated room to accommodate them. This room must be equipped with basic necessities, including a bed, access to a bathroom, and sufficient funds and food to sustain them.

• Max Toddler Skills

• A Child must complete one of the options before becoming a teen:

Reach level 5 in 2 skills with perfect grades or reach level 10 in any skills.

• Teens must complete one of these option before becoming a young adult

Reach level 5 in 2 skills & a part time job or reach level 10 in 2 skills.

• Host a wedding every time a pair of sims get married.

ASPIRATIONS:

• Complete at least one aspiration for your sim and it's spouse

• Complete an Aspiration for each of your sims children.

[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.