#soho farm

[urloveangel]

[apoemaday]

Mrs. Faust

by Carol Ann Duffy

First things first -- I married Faust. We met as students, shacked up, split up, made up, hitched up, got a mortgage on a house, flourished academically, BA. MA. Ph.D. No kids. Two toweled bathrobes. Hers. His. We worked. We saved. We moved again. Fast cars. A boat with sails. A second home in Wales. The latest toys -- computers, mobile phones. Prospered. Moved again. Faust’s face was clever, greedy, slightly mad. I was as bad. I grew to love the lifestyle, not the life. He grew to love the kudos, not the wife. He went to whores. I felt, not jealousy, but chronic irritation. I went to yoga, t’ai chi, Feng Shui, therapy, colonic irrigation. And Faust would boast at dinner parties of the cost of doing deals out East. Then take his lust to Soho in a cab, to say the least, to lay the ghost, get lost, meet panthers, feast. He wanted more. I came home late one winter’s evening, hadn’t eaten. Faust was upstairs in his study, in a meeting. I smelled cigar smoke, hellish, oddly sexy, not allowed. I heard Faust and the other laugh aloud. Next thing, the world, as Faust said, spread its legs. First politics -- Safe seat. MP. Right Hon. KG. 50 Then banks -- offshore, abroad -- and business - Vice-­chairman. Chairman. Owner. Lord. Enough? Encore! Faust was Cardinal, Pope, knew more than God; flew faster than the speed of sound around the globe, lunched; walked on the moon, golfed, holed in one; lit a fat Havana on the sun. Then backed a hunch -- Invested in smart bombs, in harms, Faust dealt in arms. Faust got in deep, got out. Bought farms, cloned sheep, Faust surfed the Internet for like-­minded Bo-­Peep. As for me, I went my own sweet way, saw Rome in a day, spun gold from hay, had a facelift, had my breasts enlarged, my buttocks tightened; went to China, Thailand, Africa, returned, enlightened. Turned 40, celibate, teetotal, vegan, Buddhist, 41. Went blonde, redhead, brunette, went native, ape, berserk, bananas; went on the run, alone; went home. Faust was in. A word, he said, I spent the night being pleasured by a virtual Helen of Troy. Face that launched a thousand ships. I kissed its lips. Things is -- I’ve made a pact with Mephistopheles, the Devil’s boy. He’s on his way to take away what’s owed, reap what I sowed. For all these years of gagging for it, going for it, rolling in it, I’ve sold my soul. At this, I heard a serpent’s hiss, tasted evil, knew its smell, as scaly devil hands poked up right through the terracotta Tuscan tiles at Faust’s bare feet and dragged him, oddly smirking, there and then straight down to Hell. Oh, well. Faust’s will left everything -- the yacht, the several homes, the Lear jet, the helipad, the loot, et cet, et cet, the lot -- to me. C’est la vie. When I got ill, it hurt like hell. I bought a kidney with my credit card, then I got well. I keep Faust’s secret still -- the clever, cunning, callous bastard didn’t have a soul to sell.

[magalhaessims]

BJERGSEN FAMILY HOME - MAXIS-MATCH CC BUILD

This is not the first, not second, not even the third time I'm doing this family home! LOL. Maybe this time I'll stick to it!  If you'd like to check out the building process, you can watch the YouTube video linked below.

NOT CC FREE 

Lot Type: Residential

Size: 30X20

World: Windenburg

Enable bb.moveobjects before placing in your game!

📺 WATCH THE SPEED BUILD HERE ✨

Origin ID: MagalhaesSims (remember to enable custom content on!) DOWNLOAD

CC USED IN THIS BUILD:

NOTE: For convenience, some of the CC is included in the Download Folder. Please put it in your Mods Folder along with the CC linked below. Thank you to all CC creators!

Charly Pancakes: Chalk (Clutter + Tiles) | Miscellanea | Smol | Soak | The Lighthouse Collection || TheClutterCat: Baby Boo | Busy Bee | Dandy Diary | Farm Friends | iCare | Mellow Moods | Mermaid Mansion | Snuggle Set | Sunny Sundae || Felixandre: Berlin | Chateau | Colonial (2022) | Fairylicious | Fayun | Florence | Gatsby | Grove | London | Paris | Shop The Look: 01 - 03 | Soho || Harrie: Brownstone | Coastal Collection | Country Kitchen | Klean | Shop The Look 01 || House Of Harlix: Baysic + Bathroom | Harluxe | Jardane | Kichen | Kichen 2Point1 | Livin'Rum | Orjanic | The Bafroom | Tiny Twavellers || KKB-MM: Citrus Room || LittleDica: Chic Bathroom | Country Sleek | Delicato Living | Delicious Kitchen | Eco Kitchen | Rise&Grind Cafe | Sleek Slumber | Summer Party || Max20: Child Dream | Classic Kitchen | Closet Collection | Garden At Home | Happily Ever After | Master Bedroom | Poolside Lounge || MLys: Pufferhead Stucf Pack || MyshunoSun: Arrie Office | Dawn Living | Flow Storage || Peacemaker-ic: Bowed Bedroom | Bowed Living | Creta | Elise Basics | Hinterland Kitchen | Post Modern | Tasteful Tots || Pierisim: Auntie Vera | Coldbrew | Combles | David Apartment | Domaine Du Clos | MCM House | Oak House | Outside Lunch | Pantry Party | Stefan | Teeny Weeny | The Office | Woodland Ranch || S-imagination: Japandi Dining Room | Rutland Kitchen || SixamCC: Home Improvement | Home Office | Tiny Playrooms || Syboulette: Neighbourly | Painter Studio || Tuds: BEGIN | Cave | SHKR

The CC Sets above are the main ones I used to decorate this specific building and you can find all the links to the creators’ sites on my Resource Page. However, if you can’t find something specific, you can send me a WCIF and I’ll try to help you find it!

My content will always be free and right away available to everyone, but if you want to, you can show your support through my Ko-Fi Page. Your donation will always be much appreciated!

Thank you for reblogging: @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @mmfinds @s4realtor @coffee-houses-finds and everyone else for helping me boost this post!

[justlemmeadoreyou]

1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.

words: 4.3k

warnings: nothing major in this one

Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.

Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience. 

Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.

Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.

You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.

Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.

There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs. 

But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.

He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.

With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.

Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.

So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.

Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.

Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...

You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.

It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.

You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.

Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.

As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.

From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.

Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.

In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.

You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.

Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.

Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.

Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.

After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.

"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"

You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!" 

You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."

Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.

Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.

Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...

You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.

"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."

"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about.  

Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.

Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.

Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers.  

By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.

The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.

"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."

You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.

As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.

Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."

He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.

"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.

Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness.  

You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.

After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.

You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.

"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."

You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.

"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek out–you instructed yourself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.

"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.

You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.

Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow. 

Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.

Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.

Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."

You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."

Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.

As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.

***

Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service. 

The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.

"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster.  

You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.

As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.

"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."

Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.

The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.

"Whoa there!"  

You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.

"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.

"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."

Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?" 

When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."

"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."

His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.

"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."

You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.

Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."

With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.

And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.

As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.

This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage. 

With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed. 

Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.

Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads 😭😭

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli

@tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge

@mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld   @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs   @hisparentsgallerryy @harryhitties @storyschanging   @selluequestrian   @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

[honeycombsims]

Cordelia Apartment

I saw an apartment on Pinterest with this vibe, and I couldn't get it out of my bed. I hope you all enjoy!

1 bed, 1 bath

2B Jasmine Suites

§79,884

download (patreon, completely free)

CC List:

CHATEAU Part 4 :) | CHATEAU Part 4 :) | CHATEAU Part 5 :) | FLORENCE Part 1 | CHATEAU Part 7 :) | SOHO Part 4 :) | FLORENCE Part 3 | CHATEAU Part 3 :) | CHATEAU Part 2:) | FLORENCE Part 1 | FAYUN Part 2:) | precious promises | SOHO Set Part 1 :) | GROVE Part1:) | BERLIN Set Part 3:) | Felixandre

Nostalgia Living CC Stuff Pack | apartment therapy inspired stuff pack V2 | boho living stuff pack | Awingedllama

SHKR Kitchen | IND Restaurant | NCTR Cellar | Tuds

STEFAN livingroom | Domaine du Clos - part 2 | David's Apartment - part 1 | PANTRY PARTY | WOODLAND Ranch - part 3 | MCM House part 5 | MCM House part 1 | STEFAN kitchen | OAK HOUSE part.1 | OAK HOUSE part.4 - download link | OAK HOUSE part.3 | OAK HOUSE Part5 | COMBLES | David's Apartment - part 2 | OAK HOUSE part.2 | Auntie Vera's Bathroom | Domaine du Clos - part 3 | STEFAN bedroom | WOODLAND Ranch - part 3 | MCM House part 2 |  MCM House part 4 | WINTER GARDEN | Domaine du Clos - part 1 | Pierisim

ＢＡＢＹ ＢＯＯ part II | iCare | BusyBee | CₒZY CₒCᵢNₐ | 𝓢nuggle 𝓢et part II | 𝘟𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘵 22 𝘊𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯  |  The Clutter Cat

Tranquil Bedroom | Gale Dining | Rosa Bathroom | LOTTIE BEDROOM | myshunosun

Forever Autumn Part 1 | Forever Autumn Part 2 | Summer Garden - Part2 | Simple Live Collection - Kitchen Clutter | Joyceisfox

BAYSIC | ORJÁNIC - Part 2 | Kichen 2Point0 | LIVIN’ RUM | House of Harlix

Octave Collection - Part 3 | The Coastal Collection - Part 4 | The Coastal Collection - Part Eight |  Brownstone Collection - Part Two | The Coastal Collection - Part Five | Spoons - Part 2 |  Shop The Look 3 | The Country Collection - Part 3 | Brownstone Collection - Part 3 | Harrie

Boho-Bath Botanical Retreat | Kessler Farm Kitchen | Small Spaces: Laundry Room | Home Improvements V8 | Sixam CC

maple & s. constructions pt. 3 - download | soak | Modish | Miscellanea | chalk pt.III | telly - art frame tv | selection one | the lighthouse collection | Charly Pancakes

Hinterlands Kitchen | Matilda Mudroom | Gently Draping | Peacemaker

The Bathroom Collection | My Cup of CC

The Sims 4 Chic Bathroom Stuff Pack | Sleek Slumber | Littledica

FOLKLORE SET | Lili's Palace

Classic Kitchen kit | Kitchen Appliances Pack | Max20

[KKB'sMM]My Heimish Hall | [KKB'sMM]Citrus Room | KKBTassel-Tastic Cotton Rugs | Who is Sage

[simstorian-blog]

1 Torrendi Tower

(CC List + Links)

[Note: Light switches, for the Ravasheen hidden lights, are near the doors in the bathrooms)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Fashion District

Lot Size:  40 x 30

Amenities:

A Bar

Bowling (4 Lanes)

Bubble Tea Counter

Karaoke (1 main room, 4 private rooms)

Restaurant

Outdoor Performance Stage

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

City Living

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Island Living

Lovestruck

For Rent

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Journey to Batuu (Only debug wires)

Jungle Adventure

Spa Day

Strangerville

Stuff Packs

Bowling

Moschino Stuff

Kits

Desert Luxe

Party Essentials (Only 1 light)

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

City Vibes Lot Trait Collection

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

MC Command Center

Spawn Refresh

CC Used

[All credits go to the following creators for sharing their work with the community. It is greatly appreciated and I hope that you all have endless nights of the best sleep ever.]

Helpful Tip: Having Only What is Needed For CC Builds (Tumblr)

Felixandre: Estate Pt. 2 & 3, Florence Pt. 4, Grove Pt. 1, Kyoto Pt. 1, 2, & 3, Shop the Look 2, SOHO Pt. 1

Harrie: Brutalist Bathroom, Klean Pt. 1 & 2, Octave Pt. 2, Spoons Pt. 2 & 3

House of Harlix: Bafroom, Baysic, Harluxe, Kichen, Kichen 2.0, Livin’ Rum, Orjanic Pt. 1 & 2

Hamsterbelle: Cyberpunk Light (Embers)

Kirsicca: Tekstuuri Wall

LittleDica: H&B Store (Lit Letters)

MyCupofCC: The Modernist

Necrodog: Into Music

Peacemaker: Creta Kitchen

Pierisim: Stefan Living Room

Ravasheen: Counterfit Mini Fridge, Easy Peasy Lumen Squeezy Light System

Severinka: Apollo Rug

Soloriya: Sonata

Sooky88: Checkered Marble Floor, Modern Farm Rugs

Syboubou: Lift Classic Elevator

TaurusDesign: Eliza Walk In Closet, Lilith Chiling Areas Pt. 1

TUDS: Cave, Ind 02, Ind 03

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

DOWNLOAD (242 MB)

[ecoustsaintmein]

ghosts (part iI of ????)

part i here

part iii here

part iv here

part v here

pairing: paddy x eoin; rating: M. slow burn.

this was the first time they'd had this conversation as eric and killian. but it was as if they'd had this conversation, many years ago, many times before.

(or, paddy mayne and eoin mcgonigal, reincarnated as eric love from 'starred up' and killian from 'angel'. they meet again, during the heights of the pandemic -- but they don't remember - until much, much, much later).

--

killian's been setting up shop, selling videos of himself to viewers who would pay ridiculous amounts of money just to see him strip and touch himself without sacrificing his anonymity.

that interlude in his life - spending time with his pals at that farm, it was fine playing at being lord of the flies once in a while, but it had to end.

eric reminds him of matt, in some ways. it's his colouring, killian thinks, the way his hair shines golden in the sun, but that's where the similarity ends. eric is closed off when matt is so open, eric is a professed agnostic when matt speaks about heaven and angels and god without any fear of judgment.

no, killian decides, categorical. eric isn't like matt at all, but more like katrin, whose fierce eyes and determination can turn cruel without warning.

instead of colliding head on like he did with katrin and jess and sammy, killian tiptoes around the edges of the cliff that is eric, because he never knows what will happen if he plunges head first into the abyss. will eric consume him whole, will eric spit him back out?

killian thinks that him and eric could not be any more different from each other, but maybe they're only pretending to be the people they aren't, with the masks that they're wearing. it's easier to hide when everyone seems interchangeable with the green scrubs and the ppe gear, breathing the same chlorine detergent and stale piss scent. maybe deep down they're just the same, with the violence and savagery that they're both capable of.

it's just that killian hides it better.

the only time that he really can be himself, he thinks, is when he's in front of a camera, anonymous, faceless.

--

as cu chulainn, killian has the freedom to act out his fantasies. he's a man still, but he sees nothing wrong in being in touch with his feminine side, while retaining his masculinity. there was a time when he was ashamed for even considering this as a possibility, it having beaten into him growing up catholic in rural cork. it's something that he keeps close to his chest, though, and it's not as if he could casually discuss this part of his life with anyone.

so yes. there is still shame there, maybe.

he'd come up to london and experienced soho and experimented with other boys who were much more confident than himself, but perhaps it's the inner irish farm boy in him that makes him want to isolate himself; safely cocooned by his insularity.

he's traded wide spaces with rolling green hills and the sunshine for packed clubs between brewer street to old compton street, bathed in fairy dust and neon lights. the bassline still beats in killian's ears, in his toes, sometimes, and he thinks he wasn't born for this kind of life. so he retreated back into the peaceful eden that is his flat, with his potted chilli and herbs and anything that will stay alive if killian takes good care of them. the wild side of him still yearns, the part of him that wants and craves.

he started off small, with the videos. he didn't want to give anything away, hence the false name and the fake accent, after years of living on the farm in west sussex and sharing good craic with those english lads who'd spent their gap year to live life off-grid. they came and they went, but killian had stayed. until matt came along and told them that he needed to leave the farm altogether.

and killian's response, instead of anger, or resentment, was to kiss matt.

and then ran away like a fucking coward.

(it was a choice).

but the wild side of him still yearns, the part of him that wants and craves.

it really took off when pandemic hit, when the clubs closed and every transaction is conducted through grainy pixels and splodgy screens, the black mirrors to their souls. the numbers of his subscribers rose.

names and handles indeterminable from one another, some direct and downright rude, some a bit more hesitant and quiet, happy to just enjoy the show.

sometimes he would talk about himself -- his likes, his dislikes, without giving too much away. he rambles a lot, sometimes, about sweet nothings and on vague enough topics that no one can pinpoint who he is. his monologues tends to get the chat going, even when he's not stripping down or touching himself, and there'd been a flurry of questions about whether he's got a boyfriend or a girlfriend or maybe both. killian's laughed a hearty laugh, then, because he feels that he's some kind of a mini-celebrity and his subscribers are so nosey about his personal life.

one of the quieter, but eagle-eyed subscribers, user @/blair_e once asked about his handle, and his supposed englishness. 'if ur english why cu chulainn', the question went, and killian had switched effortlessly to his native accent, playing coy, asking, challenging: who says i'm english?

killian's begun to calling him blair, now, in his head, though they've never had a direct interaction. blair never replied after the 'who says i'm english?' comment -- like he's been chided by a teacher and has learnt his lesson and doesn't want to cause any more trouble. he's interesting, this feller, because before that he did occasionally send comments like 'you're gorgeous' and 'i want your cock in me' and 'fuck me hard', plus every other iteration of such phrases known to man, since the time of catullus who had written so eloquently:

'pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,' killian thinks. 'i will sodomize you and face-fuck you.'

but sometimes, blair would also type things like:

'i would undress you in the summer heat, and laugh and dry your damp flesh if you came,' or --

'give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred', or,

'i love you. i love you, but i'm turning to my verses and my heart is closing like a fist,'

-- but doesn't follow up on any of them, as if he's scared that killian would notice, would know where the lines had come from.

oh, but killian did notice.

two can play at this game.

--

blair, he thinks. it's a lovely name.

but he's not a real person, just a name on the screen. it's only as real as cu chulainn's only a fragment of himself, that he hasn't got the guts to show the world in real life.

tonight the show is over.

tomorrow morning, he's killian again. the same killian who waits up for eric, who's always scatty and late (the alarm clock doesn't go off, he says, or his toast burnt, or he's lost his ear buds). eric's flat is a miasma of three bottles of different lynx fragrances, and killian's nose always twitches when he opens the door, the way one's nose twitches when walking past a lush store.

then they'll walk up to st george's, together. 'saves up the bus fare, innit?' grins eric.

this, killian thinks, is more real to him.

killian grins back and puts an arm around eric, because they're pals.

eric lets him.

--

the experience they'd had, eric and him -- as volunteers, in this hospital, has humbled them. there are things bigger than themselves. they're just specks of dust, and yet, the things that they do still matter.

eric, especially -- he'd spoken openly about his time in prison, what a twat he'd been. killian would be lying if he'd said he couldn't see it, because he could. eric is intimidating, sure, but killian doesn't fear him. he's like a lost stray dog who wants affection but doesn't know how to ask for it, because all he's known is danger and hunger and learning how to become the bigger, vicious dog in order to survive.

there is no room for vulnerability, because in that world you'd get eaten. you fight for scrapes. you fight for honour. but you fight dirty. you walk around with red-tinted glasses and everything's a red flag, but you don't realize that you're a fucking red flag yourself.

he'd seen the people coming through into a+e for knife crimes, and eric says to killian, there'd been a time when i'd been the prick who'd done that.

and then he'd worked in the wards and saw the realities of life and death and between the prison and the hospital and the halfway-house that is their council flat, something in eric seems to have shifted.

--

killian's seen the way eric balls up his fists and grits his teeth when he's trying not to talk back at a demanding relative, an entitled patient, a sneering charge nurse, a snobby junior reg who graduated from oxbridge.

they're all burnt out.

killian's seen, in a span of an eight hour shift:

a respiratory consultant screaming in the men's urinals after another death on his take. a med reg having a panic attack in the chaplaincy after a resus gone wrong. a medical student dissociating from the reality of their future; what their career paths will lead them down to--

-- this feckin' shite.

--

people dying.

politicians roared in laughter behind closed doors, like the pigs and the humans at the end of animal farm.

killian's seen the injustices. the failing systems, the trolleys in a+e corridors, paramedics rushing in and out helplessly as ambulances whizz past. nurses joking that their piss look like fucking irn bru because they didn't even get the chance to drink a gulp of nothing for a whole twelve hours. doctors skipping lunch because they just had no time to even breathe so they stacked up on those sweeties from them bright red celebration tubs that relatives brought in as a thank you gesture. stuffed them in their scrubs' pockets and gobbled them up between running from one end of the ward to the other. the bounty sweeties were always the last ones left.

killian doesn't mind them, but eric swears that it's the filthiest thing on earth.

--

eric still speaks about religion distastefully, and seems to shudder every time a chaplain comes around. killian's grown fond of one of the chaplains, a wise lady of caribbean descent who grew up in clapham (her parents were on the windrush, she'd said), but retained her trinidadian accent. he got her to hijack their lunch table one day, and eric had grunted then -- but by the end of fifteen minutes he could tell that even eric was charmed, and by half-an-hour he was openly laughing at a joke that she'd made.

killian had seen her at work, how she put people at ease - even if they're religious -- or not. killian watches how she helps people grieve, and through this it also helped killian work through his own unspoken, unprocessed grief. his da. losing his friends.

katrin. sammy. jess.

matt.

what could have been if they hadn't been kicked off that farm. what could have been if killian hadn't broken off all contact. what could have been if killian had stayed in dromena, with his mam, instead of fucking off to west sussex. what could have been if his real da hadn't left them.

what could have been, killian wonders, if he hadn't been a coward; hadn't run away after he'd kissed matt under the grey skies crying mourning tears over the choices killian had made in his life.

and then, he thinks, he wouldn't have taken the first train up to london. he wouldn't have been lost. he wouldn't have been found.

he wouldn't have found himself.

he wouldn't have found eric.

--

eric doesn't talk about his dad a lot, but he'd shared enough for killian to know that they were in the same prison. he talked about the therapy group and the posh fucker who fucked off to canada, and he spoke about dr wilson and made a joke about how the prison psychiatrist and the hospital chaplain could probably be best pals.

he talked about ashley.

killian could tell that eric's grieving about ashley, too.

--

one night, on the bus home, because it was raining again and it was dark as sin and neither could be arsed to walk, eric fell asleep on his shoulder. head lolled back, a sudden snore.

the bus jolted, and the moment passed.

eric woke.

stared at killian, bleary eyed like he had no idea where he'd been or who he was.

when things were.

'eoin,' he'd said, and something in killian snapped. eric looked like he'd caught himself, as if to say, 'i didn't mean to say that'.

when they got home killian paused at eric's door. it was a split-second decision; a choice to make -- maybe he could lean by the doorframe and stand over eric and kiss the stubble off his cheek.

or maybe he could just say 'good night, paddy,' with a curt nod, and take the extra ten paces to walk to his own door.

killian chose the second option.

eric didn't correct him.

he'd said, 'good night, eoin,' back.

killian didn't correct him neither.

--

eric turns on the computer, as he often does. finds out if cu chulainn's posted anything new.

finds out if killian's posted anything new. he wishes he could stay away, he wishes he could stop. but now that he knows, he needs more. and it's not like he's a predator -- it's not like he's doing this without killian's consent. he's posted the videos for all the world to see. it just so happens that killian's his pal, the same killian who makes amazing sausage rolls from scratch but is so bad at fifa. and he's helping out a friend, innit? even if it means that eric would be running out of pocket money before the end of the month?

there isn't a new video, but there is a dm.

it's a voice note, from cu chulainn.

from killian.

eric presses play.

--

killian-as-cu-chulainn recites:

'my heart’s aflutter! I am standing in the bath tub crying. mother, mother who am I? if he will just come back once and kiss me on the face his coarse hair brush my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes I guess, and walk the streets.';

then --

'give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet another thousand, then a hundred; then, when we have performed many thousands, we shall shake them into confusion, in order that we might not know, and in order not to let any evil person envy us, when he knows that there are so many of our kisses;'

and --

'the fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and i gasp brightness; but it tightens again. when have i ever not loved the pain of love? but this has moved

past love to mania. this has the strong clench of the madman, this is gripping the ledge of unreason, before plunging howling into the abyss.

hold hard then, heart. this way at least you live.'

--

that night, eric dreams:

eric-as-paddy, and killian-as-eoin, reciting poetry,

sitting at the piano,

singing percy french songs, together.

playing chess instead of gta v on the ps,

drinking rum instead of cans of monster.

'i will join the sas too,' eoin says, the grip on paddy's arm burning like a furnace.

'let's fuck off to burma,' paddy says, and --

'he reminds me that underneath i am a poet.'

and then they jump.

--

eric wakes and rushes out and knocks on killian's door, breathless.

he's wanted to say, 'i want to see that notebook again. that notebook with those names on it -- paddy and eoin.'

but when killian opens the door, with a confused look on his face, all eric could think about is,

'i am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever if your hands were in mine I'd be sure we'd not sever',

and -- 'eoin eoin eoin eoin eoin,' and 'i don't want to lose you again.'

so he kisses killian-who-is-eoin-but-not-eoin, and killian responds back, his body singing,

'do not stand at my grave and cry, i am not there. i did not die,'

and -- 'i'm still alive, paddy. i'm still here. the sand of the desert couldn't keep my soul buried, just like you said,'

before they break away from each other, panting, wondering what the fuck's just happened.

--

this time, killian doesn't run.

but eric does.

--

tbc.

part iii here

[thegikitiki]

Just a Little Farm Girl from SoHo...

Jägermeister Ad, 1980

[icallhimjoey]

bmw? sure joe ;) they will never make me believe he can drive lmao hehe

listen, if this stupid thing at soho farm house for rich twats is going to ruin our fantastic bit, im going to have to actually murder him

[noxexistant]

what is your delancey brothers backstory? we have stories from you based on it, but I'd love to hear what you actually think their story is!

(sorry if you've answered this before-)

i love this question more than anything, thank you so much

my backstory for the boys is blended from canon sources, actor backstories, and. divine intervention /j but mostly a lot of brainrot with birdy.

cw; abuse, violence, alcohol/drug abuse

first of all, their parents. morris delancey senior, their father, is a farmer from texas — the family moved out there just before he was born, led by da delancey’s own abusive dad, and he then moved back to new york when he was eighteen or so, hating the emptiness out west. back in new york, and in his twenties, he met fresh-off-the-boat irish immigrant maíre o’caelleigh — alone, and not quite sixteen yet, and charms her effortlessly with empty promises.

they have oscar first, unplanned and unwanted, when she’s sixteen and before the two of them are married — oscar, a bastard, is unable to be baptised and given his mother’s surname. they marry, live on morris sr’s farm together near soho, and two years later have morris, named for his father, their only legitimate child. baptised and raised catholic, and taught gaeilge by his mother despite morris sr banning either of them from speaking it, ashamed of his wife’s cultural identity and trying to strip her of it. morris is still influenced heavily by it, while oscar, who spends more time with his father, is more influenced by his father’s southernness.

oscar and morris grow up on the farm in the middle of nowhere, utterly alone aside from each other. it’s miserable. oscar is unwanted and a beacon of shame, a stain on his catholic parents’ names in the era, and morris doesn’t fare much better for long.

oscar is a healthy kid, strong and hardy and useful, but morris is sickly and complex, barely makes it through infancy. their parents’ love for their baby wears thin soon enough, and quickly oscar is the one left to look after and raise his younger brother against a backdrop of violence and neglect. morris is no longer shielded from their father’s abuse by oscar and maíre being his sole targets — and morris is a very easy target, even to their mother.

the farm, meanwhile, is not profitable. morris sr is not a good worker. they’re dirt poor and the farmhouse is rickety and cold, the land around them arid and useless, and da deals with this with drinking and gambling and drug habits — opioids, mainly, which he got onto after an old injury when they were prescribed by a doctor they could no longer afford. maíre is severely mentally ill, a mixture of hereditary afflictions and trauma and untreated postpartum issues. all of this contributes to the abuse the boys suffer and a general constant lack of safety. it instils codependency in the boys, understanding that they are the only safe people in the entire world — they’re all they have.

when morris is about eleven and oscar about thirteen, their mother dies by suicide in the farmhouse. a year or so later, the boys are herded into a carriage and brought to town by their father, who surrenders them to the refuge without so much as a goodbye, certainly without explanation. and that’s where the boys remain until oscar finally turns eighteen and ages out into their uncle wiesel’s reluctant employment, and finally manages to rescue morris as well — though not before plenty more damage has been done by morris’ understanding that oscar had abandoned him in there.

so, the codependency gets worse. the boys are already violent, shattered into sharp pieces by their father, but now wiesel and snyder work on sharpening them into weapons. they do as they’re told, because that’s their manner of survival, and oscar protects his brother with his life. they do terrible things because they believe the world in its entirety is terrible and cruel and violent, and their fear has made them selfish, only focused on their own safety because they believe that’s how the world works. and that’s approximately where canon begins!

so, that’s the sparknotes version of it all, approximately. if you’d like me to expound on any of this, pls absolutely ask

[femmeknitted]

First post on here but I wanted to share my finished Soho Top by Caidree

I started this in April and didn't finish it until the end of November 💀 But in my defense I was only knitting on it like once a week once I joined in the round.

I don't remember what size I knit tbh but I definitely could have sized down at least one size maybe two? My garment is 100% cotton so I might just wash it and throw it in the drier and hopefully it'll shrink to a good size? A little nervous about that idea because it's not terribly too big but I just need it to shrink width wise juuuuust a little bit.

The yarn I used is Juniper Moon Farm's Neve base in the color Valentine (color 23). It's 100% Pima Cotton. It's a very soft cotton yarn and it was nice to work with.

I knit it to pattern using the recommended needle size (i think 4 mm?). I did size up to a 5 mm for the bottom hem i-cord bind off because I was nervous about it not being elastic enough but I definitely didn't need to do that. I did a 4.5 mm needle instead for the i-cord edging on the arm and neck holes and I think that looks better.

I thought this was a size inclusive pattern but I just pulled up the PDF again to see what size I knit and it's not apparently 😔 that's confusing bc Caidree is normally pretty good about that???? oh well, i'll just double check next time.

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

As I'd hoped it has been a very red, white and blue year for the PoW. There were some pinks and oranges in January's but those eventually disappeared and except for the occasional green ensemble and some neutrals, she has stuck to the coronation theme. That's fantastic!

I've really enjoyed the coronation prep, even if it hasn't been as glam as I had hoped for. The words that come to mind are "professional," "stature," excellence. It has been a very "20th century British diplomatic service" kind of affair, efficient, subdued and targeted. From the train ride to London to drinking pints in Soho to the royal receptions...everything is thoroughly professional, down to the color scheme. It's Executive Royalty.

That's a bit disappointing because I love the royal glam, but KCIII is definitely setting the tone for his reign. It's not the tone I expected because I've always thought KCIII loved glam. I think he still does, but it's not what he wants his reign to represent. Apparently, we won't even get tiaras?

That's a statement. I don't necessarily hate it. He is definitely setting the theme-nature, diversity, service, etc... very successfully too.

I'm really looking forward to tomorrow. Hope everyone enjoys the party!

[magalhaessims]

FAMILY BEACH COTTAGE - MAXIS-MATCH CC BUILD

NOT CC FREE 

Lot Type: Residential

Size: 30x20

World: Windenburg

Enable bb.moveobjects before placing in your game!

📺 WATCH THE SPEED BUILD HERE ✨

Origin ID: MagalhaesSims (remember to enable custom content on!) DOWNLOAD

CC USED IN THIS BUILD:

NOTE: For convenience, some of the CC is included in the Download Folder. Please put it in your Mods Folder along with the CC linked below.

Charly Pancakes: Chalk (Clutter Set) | Lavish | Miscellanea | Munch Pt. 1 | Smol | Soak | The Lighthouse Collection | Weeds || TheClutterCat: Baby Boo | Dandy Diary | Farm Friends | Hello Horses | iCare | Mellow Moods | Snuggle Set | Sunny Sundae | Water Vibes || Felixandre: Chateau | Colonial (2022) | Fairylicious | Florance | Grove | Kyoto | London | Shop The Look 01 & 03 | Soho || Harrie: Brownstone | Brutalist Bathroom | Coastal Collection | Klean | Octave Collection || House Of Harlix: Baysic + Bathroom | Harlux | Jardane | Kichen 2Point1 | Kichen | Livin'Rum | Orjanic || LittleDica: Country Sleek | Sleek Slumber || Max20: Garden At Home | Master Bedroom || MLys: Pufferhead Stuff Pack || MyshunoSun: Dawn Living || Peacemaker-ic: Hinterland Dining | Over The Rainbow | Tasteful Tots || Pierisim: Auntie Vera Bathroom | Combles | David Apartment | Domaine Du Clos | MCM House | Oak House | Pantry Party | Stefan | Teeny Weeny | Unfold | Woodland Ranch || SixamCC: Cozy Family Room || Tuds: CRIB | SHKR

The CC Sets above are the main ones I used to decorate this specific building and you can find all the links to the creators’ sites on my Resource Page. However, if you can’t find something specific, you can send me a WCIF and I’ll try to help you find it!

My content will always be free and right away available to everyone, but if you want to, you can show your support through my Ko-Fi Page. Your donation will always be much appreciated!

Thank you for reblogging: @coffee-houses-finds @mmfinds @mmoutfitters @s4realtor @maxismatchccworld and everyone else for helping me boost this post!

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Is Daylesford Organic the blueprint for American Rivera Orchard? by u/Aware-Impression8527

Is Daylesford Organic the blueprint for American Rivera Orchard? Daylesford Organic is a lifestyle brand in England. It started as a farm shop -- more of a vegetable boutique really -- but diversified into homeware, recipe books, garden tools, pet products, skincare, and wellness accessories. In short, all the things we know are covered under the ARO trademarks.The brand grew slowly and (forgive the pun) organically. It's the passion project of Lady Carole Bamford. The company is solvent now but it was running at a loss for YEARS. They could absorb the losses because the Bamfords have pots and pots of money.I say all this because Daylesford is a real place in Oxfordshire. And it happens to be five miles from the farmhouse in which Meghan and Harry lived before they moved to Canada. It is where the influencers lunch on their way home from the Soho Farmhouse. Meghan almost certainly frequented it.Daylesford's brand is and always had been cohesive and meaningful and even though some things are eye-wateringly expensive, there are enough reasonable priced things for aspirational middle-class people to buy into the lifestyle.Lady Carole is new money but it's lonnnnng money. She epitomises quiet luxury and would not be seen dead traipsing through her kitchen in a ball gown. She is discerning but not pretentious and, above all, kind. Even if Daylesford is the inspiration, Meghan is going to need a lot of capital to get it ARO and an impeccable team to get it off the ground. I very much doubt that the mind behind Haribo will be up to the job... post link: https://ift.tt/aVOMiIZ author: Aware-Impression8527 submitted: May 14, 2024 at 10:32AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[poppyenchantress]

I kind of wonder what a cozy horror Animal Crossing/ Dreamlight Valley game would be like. 

Chucky & Tiffany could live in a playhouse as dolls always squabbling but love each other like an old married couple 

A farm area where Pearl & Leatherface live 

A theater where Pearl & Sandy{Last Night at Soho} can do a song & dance performance or Asami Yamazaki {Audition} can do ballet 

Cabrini Green apartments from Candyman for characters that live in the city 

Tom Nook Patrick Bateman {American Psycho} 

A highschool for Sidney Prescott, Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson {Nightmare on Elm Street} Ginger & Bridget {Ginger Snaps} and Ghostface go. 

Summer & Halloween DLC with Michael Myers & Jason Voorhees 

Hanging out with Horror characters like Sadako , Candyman, Freddy, Carrie & walking around locations like the Overlook Hotel {The Shining}

[twisted--stitches]

Finished this scarf for my dad just in time for his birthday! It was the Broken Garter Scarf pattern by Purl Soho and was made in alpaca from a local farm (which was so so lovely to knit with)