#Sunderland path

[astrosagga2]

Sunderkand Path, a chapter from the Ramayana, holds immense spiritual significance. It strengthens faith, removes obstacles, and brings peace and prosperity. Regular recitation is believed to invoke divine blessings, protect from negative energies, and cultivate courage, devotion, and mental clarity, fostering overall spiritual growth and positivity.

[noahhawthorneauthor]

or am I right? ⚔️📚

[saddleups]

hi it’s me again who requested the video tape!! thank you for that and i loved it 🫦

it’s so hot to imagine james being a single father… he adopts laura after the leave ending, idk it makes me so 🤸‍♀️ imagining james as a single father. and gentle morning sex. that’s also cute!

-🧚‍♀️

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 1.7k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. JAMES SUNDERLAND X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . just sweet vanilla sex <3 p_rn w/o a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . omg hello !! i'm glad you liked it , i had a lot of fun with it and i kinda , sorta wanna do a second part lol. your mind for the gentle morning sex ?? gentle and intimate with heavy eye contact ... sedate me

The first light of dawn spills softly through the curtains of your shared bedroom, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. As the first light dances over your face, your lashes flutter, and a quiet groan slips from your lips. You stir, feeling the familiar warmth of James pressed behind you, his arm draped over your waist in a protective hold.

Reluctantly, you crane your neck to check the time, only to realize it’s early. Much too early. The small shift of your body stirs him, and you feel his hand flex around you as he starts to wake.

“Sorry, hun,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

“’S’fine,” James responds, his voice a low, drowsy rumble. “I needed to get up early anyway to drop Laura off at school.”

You let out a soft laugh, barely more than a whisper, “Like, six a.m. early?”

A quiet groan rumbles from his chest as he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers tracing gentle circles along your side. “Maybe not,” he admits, voice softened by sleep, as if savoring this rare moment.

James nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. These moments, so rare and precious, were hard to come by with a child running through the house, always lurking around, popping up at the most inconvenient times.

A little nuisance, sure—but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. In this quiet sliver of dawn, with only the sound of his breathing and the faint hum of morning outside, you tasted a fleeting slice of domesticity.

His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck. You tilt your hed to the side, giving him better access, James takes full advantage. He peppers your skin with soft kisses, leaving you breathless. The friction of his stubble against your skin is a delicious mix of roughness and tenderness, making you arch into him.

"James," you breathe, your hands instinctively reaching back to grip his forearm. The heat between you is palpable, a silent promise of the passion that always seems to simmer just beneath the surface.

He nuzzles deeper into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady. "Do you have to get up?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

You shake your head, even though he can't see it, lost in the sensation of his lips moving lower, tracing a path down your shoulder.

"No," you reply, your own voice catching in your throat. "Not yet."

His hand moves higher, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your nightgown. The simple touch sends a wave of pleasure through you, making your nipples pebble instantly. He teases one with his thumb, the friction electric against your sensitized flesh.

"Mmm," you moan softly, turning your head to capture his gaze. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, a green blaze that promises so much more than this fleeting moment. It's a look that speaks volumes, one that says he wants you as desperately as you want him.

James leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The connection is immediate and powerful, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours in a dance as old as time. Your bodies mold together, fitting perfectly as if made for each other. His free hand slides down to cup your ass, pulling you even closer, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against your thigh.

You break the kiss, gasping for breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "James," you whisper again, this time with a hint of urgency. "We shouldn't..."

He silences you with another kiss, this one softer, almost reverent. "Shh," he murmurs against your lips. "We just have to be quiet," he says with a hint of playfulness.

Encouraged, you scoot closer, your body pressing against him. Your breath hitches as your thigh brushes against his hardening length.

"James," you whisper, voice barely audible.

He just looks at you, his lips parted as if he’s about to say something. But then his gaze drops to your lips, and the intensity in his eyes makes your heart race.

"Please," you whisper, almost begging now. "Take me."

His breath catches, and you feel his entire body tense up for a moment before he exhales slowly. His hand moves from your cheek to your hair, tangling in the strands as he pulls you closer. He kisses you then, a soft, lingering kiss that speaks volumes without words.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with need. "Are you sure?" he asks, voice low and rough.

You nod again, your fingers gripping his arm tightly. He shifts slightly, turning so that he’s half on his side, facing you. The straps of your nightgown have come undone. James' slips his hand down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your already hard nipple. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you let out a small gasp.

"Quiet," he reminds you, but there’s no reprimand in his tone. Only concern and affection.

You bite your lip, nodding once more. He leans in, capturing your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. The pressure builds, and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

Your hand travels down to his erection, wrapping your fingers around him. He’s hot and hard in your hand, and you squeeze gently, eliciting a low groan from him.

"God, you’re so beautiful," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "So perfect."

Your heart swells at his praise, and you move your hand, stroking him with slow, deliberate movements. He closes his eyes, his head falling back as he revels in the sensation. But you want more, need more. You guide his hand down to your entrance, where your arousal is already slick and ready.

He hesitates for a moment, looking into your eyes as if seeking reassurance. You give him a small, encouraging smile, and he dips one finger inside you. The sensation is intense, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He curves his finger, finding that sweet spot inside you, and you feel your body clenching around him.

"Fuck, you’re so wet," he mutters, his voice strained. "So wet for me."

You nod, unable to form words, your focus entirely on the way his finger feels moving inside you. He adds a second finger, spreading you open, stretching you. The pressure builds, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.

"James," you gasp, your hips bucking against his fingers. "I want more."

He removes his fingers, only to replace them with his cock. He pushes inside you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch is delicious, overwhelming, and you grip the sheets beneath you, trying to stay quiet. He pauses when he’s fully sheathed inside you, his eyes locked on yours.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice firm but gentle. "Don’t look away."

You obey, your eyes locked onto his as he positions himself above you. The thin veil of sheets that once shielded you both falls away, exposing your bodies to the powerful heat emanating from James.

As he traps you between his arms, your legs instinctively part wider for him, begging for more. With a smirk, James teases your slick entrance with the head of his throbbing cock, relishing in the sight of your wetness mingling with his own precum. "Beautiful," he whispers lowly before plunging into you once again, claiming you entirely.

James starts to move, thrusting slowly and deliberately. Each stroke of his cock fills you completely, the sensation building and building until it’s almost too much to bear. He watches you intently, his expression a mix of love and raw desire.

"That’s it," he murmurs. "Feel it, baby. Feel how good this is. How good we are together."

His words push you closer to the edge, and you feel the orgasm coiling deep inside you. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and you’re trembling all over. He speeds up, his thrusts becoming more urgent, deeper. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he fucks you.

"Yes, yes," you whisper, your voice breaking. "Oh God, James, I’m going to come."

"Let go," he urges. "Come for me. Let me see you fall apart."

The command pushes you over the edge, and you cry out softly as the orgasm rips through you. Your body spasms, squeezing him tightly as you ride out the wave of pleasure. He continues to thrust into you, chasing his own release, his breathing ragged.

"I’m close," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. "So close."

You reach between you, wrapping your hand around his cock where it meets your entrance, pumping him in time with his thrusts. The added friction sends him spiraling over the edge, and he groans your name as he comes, his seed filling you.

He collapses onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. For a moment, neither of you moves, lost in the afterglow of your combined climaxes. Finally, he lifts himself off you slightly, his eyes still locked on yours.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, smiling up at him. "Mhmn, thank you baby."

He leans down, kissing you softly, his tongue flicking against yours. The kiss is tender, almost reverent, and it leaves you breathless. As he pulls back, he gives you one last, lingering look before rolling off you and pulling you into his arms.

"Sleep now," he whispers, planting a kiss on your forehead. "We’ll talk later."

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished. The dawn light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room.

Then you hear it, right outside the hall. "Hey! Where's breakfast?"

It's Laura, you turn to him and chuckle. James sighs, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he mutters, “Guess our peace and quiet's up.”

You chuckle, whispering back, “Think we can get away with pretending we’re still asleep?”

He gives a low, tired laugh, “Tempting. But knowing her, she’ll barge right in.”

Right on cue, Laura’s voice rings louder, impatience growing. “Hellooo? I’m starving in here!”

James groans playfully, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright! We’re coming!”

You share a small, conspiratorial smile before he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, muttering, “Let’s face the little monster.”

[thevanillerose]

PENSIVE | JAMES SUNDERLAND x READER | SILENT HILL 2

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ ~ NOVELS ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators. A/N: So, the Silent Hill 2 Remake is out. I love what I've seen so far, I think they did an amazing job with it! I wrote this fic a while back, way before the remake was even announced, so this is with OG Jame in mind (and tbh he's still my fave version because he's such a sad, pasty little man). But honestly you could imagine this being Remake!Jame if you like. Love him too ♡ (p.s. I can't stop calling him 'Jame' and I blame Vinny Vinesauce for this...)

“Let's take a walk. It'll help clear your head.”

This place was so damn muggy. Then again, was Silent Hill really the tourist locale it had once been? It sure didn't seem that way, not judging by the state of those public bathrooms at least. In fact, it was the abandoned quality that had drawn you here in the first place.

Yet his motivations were different. Much different.

At first you assumed it was suicide. A guy with a miserable face, driving out alone to this rural place? Why else would he come here looking so miserable? So hollow?

You didn't know if it was your business, but you approached him anyway. You didn't know what to say, but you still spoke. “Come here often?” It was intended as something of a joke, but it landed about as well as a Boeing on a graham cracker. It was hard to know what to say when you suspected his depression. That ice was a little too thick to break.

His pallid face turned to yours, looking away from the grey waters that could be spotted through the thick mist around the parking lot. He revealed himself to be rather handsome. Sickly pale, yes, and tired judging by those heavy shadows beneath his eyes. Yet still attractive. Blonde haired, green eyed, a nice face, albeit one that betrayed his sorrows.

Guilt.

You didn't want to be an armchair psychologist here. In fact, you had to be cautious what you came out with, for it might make things worse. “No I...I don't. It's been a long time since I was here last.” he finally responded, keeping his hands pressed to the low stone wall, his eyes gazing down upon the largely cloaked town. His voice was heavy, rough. “I hear it used to be a good tourist spot...”

Trailing off, you glanced at his car, the door still open. Your eyes drifted back to him again. “What's your name?” “...James...James Sunderland...” he looked at you, the first time he had truly done so. When he had turned his head to you before it had seemed as if you were a ghost to him. Yet now his eyes were clearer, his voice a little softer. He even managed a half smile. “And you?” “[Y/N]. Pleasure to meet you James.”

His hand extended first. Surprised, you took it, and broke out in a little beam too. Charming too, eh? Now you really wanted to help him.

That was when you offered it. Just a simple walk down that foggy forest path. It was probably safe enough, given that you were both here together, and James seemed like a trustworthy guy. He agreed to it, and though you reluctantly slipped your hand away from his you still walked closely by his side. Occasionally his green jacket sleeve would brush up against your bare arm. It sent tingles up your spine, but you were already shivering.

“Aren't you cold?” James suddenly asked after a couple of minutes, his eyes looking piercing and pale in this light. You jolted a little again and clutched your elbows. “A little.” That jacket he was wearing came sliding off his broad shoulders and met your smaller ones, wrapped around you like a cloak. You slipped your arms through the sleeves with some assistance from him, feeling the fabric sliding up your skin like the gentlest touch of a hand.

“Thank you James...”

You both happened across a well on your way, and leaned over the edge in morbid curiosity. James saw red, you only smelt rubber. It was a deep place.

Nose wrinkling, you kept walking with him further down the uneven path. This fog just wouldn't let up, but the privacy it gave you both was kind of comforting. Time to coax out some secrets, you supposed. “Why did you come here, James?” There was a moment where all you could hear was the sound of your footsteps crunching through gravel in tandem with each other. Two, four, seven. “...I got a letter.”

Ah.

“From my wife.” Your heart sank like a stone. “You have a wife, James? Does she know you're he-” “I had a wife. She...passed away, three years ago. Yet I received this letter now...it...it doesn't make any sense.”

Mm...

A graveyard with rounded headstones passed you by. Neither of you wanted to linger too long there, so you sped through it and onto the road again. Wider this time.

“Anyway, in that letter she told me she was waiting here. We came here together before. Our special place...” James trailed off then, hanging his head a little. No breeze came passing through but you still felt a chill beneath his jacket. “I know it might seem foolish but I really want to know. Someone sent me this, and that someone had Mary's handwriting. She's probably not here...but I still need to make sure. Even just for my own peace of mind...”

Oh!

So really, he'd come here with some kind of hope. What a pity that particular hope was...well...hopeless.

There wasn't any hesitation. You didn't even think. Both your arms wrapped around one of his and your head met the side of it, nuzzling against his limb.

Poor thing.

He didn't come here to end things. He came here to find out the truth. Though the truth was so obvious that you felt sorry to see him here. Sorry to see him wasting his time. There was no way his wife was still alive. The fact that he received a letter now only meant it must have been delayed. Whatever illness she was suffering from, she must have been a little mad with it, writing such nonsense. Women couldn't be trusted, not even on their deathbed eh?

Suddenly you clocked something. James had gone stiff. He'd stopped walking too, and of course you had as well. Looking up with confusion, you could see him meeting your gaze with a little sweat on his brow. “[Y/N] I...I know you're trying to help me but...Mary might still be...”

Ahh...

Of course. So bold of you, too bold of you. You pulled away from his arm and put about a foot of distance between the two of you. James was framed by the dark tunnel behind him, his expression and stance all awkward. It looked cute. “Sorry, hah. I uh...I can be a little clingy I guess.” you remarked, rubbing your hand through your hair. Even with this jacket on the damn cold was making you shake. “My bad.” “I didn't mean to be rude. I apologise too.” James uttered stiffly, looking guilty. You only shook your head. “No no, it's fine.”

Done.

Better to leave it there. Better not to bring it up again, or touch him any more. It was a little too uncomfortable though. You continued onwards, but the silence grew too much to bear. This walk was meant to help both of you, no? So your mouth opened again and the words poured out messily. You kept talking, long enough that it might have bored anyone who wasn't so meek. Long enough that it lasted until you reached the town itself.

“Some things happened with me too I guess. I...tend to see an allure in everyone I meet, y'see. So sometimes, when I meet someone...even if I barely know them...even if they're a stranger to me...sometimes I just can't stop thinking about them.” You didn't know why you were telling him this. “I'm open minded. Is that so bad? I'm not unfaithful I just...e-everybody thinks that way, right?”

Square wrappers crackled underfoot, but you ignored them. “They say some things are innate, so maybe that's just the way I am. I can't help it.” James was saying something, but you ignored it. “I mean there's no point getting angry at someone who can't change. It's not my fault, so why?” You nearly tripped on something, but again... “Once you start-” Something gripped your arm.

Looking back, you saw it was James' pallid hand. And looking down, you saw tarmac. Looking back again, you saw panic upon his face, and he jerked you in reverse, pulling you to the pavement's edge.

“What is it James?” “...There's blood. On the road.” You followed where his slender finger pointed, but only saw grey in place of scarlet. Furrowing your brow, you scanned a wider area with your eyes but still saw nothing. “Blood? Where?”

“...You can't see it?” “No. I don't see anything, James.”

You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and he looked around the streets. This town didn't look anything like he remembered it, and it wasn't just because of the fog. His hold slipped away only so that he could pace around a little, seemingly following something, yet his steps were so hesitant that he didn't go far.

Watching the back of his t-shirt, you pulled his jacket a little more snugly around yourself and eyed the area too. What weeds managed to grow through the cracks in the pavements were moist with dew. Every shop and flat window was covered in some kind of pale grease, blocking your view. The air was thicker with something here than up that forest path.

Regret.

Your own eyes must have looked paler still as they surveyed your surroundings, eventually settling. You parted your lips to call to James, just to check if he was alright, make sure he hadn't gone too far. You almost turned around to face him again.

Yet the words paused in your throat, choking you. Your body went rigid as a rock. Your widened eyes only stared.

There you saw it. Coming round the end of the muggy road, just around the curve. A distant, slender figure, hobbling along with arms outstretched. A little familiar, yet so unfamiliar you wanted to be sick. Wretched. Despicable. Disgusting.

“...I hope you find her, James.”

...Forgive me.

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS!

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Inside Climate News:

Utah officials are bucking more than a century of legal rulings, and their state’s own constitution, in asking the U.S. Supreme Court to transfer millions of acres of federal lands to state ownership. It’s either a quixotic Hail Mary or a bold move banked on hopes that the court’s majority conservatives will overstep Congress’s authority and grant their wish. 

The land at issue accounts for more than two thirds of Utah, some 18.5 million acres owned and managed by the U.S. Bureau of Land Management (BLM). Utah officials contend the federal government is unjustly denying the state the financial remuneration that could be gleaned from converting the land to state-desired uses such as livestock grazing and energy and transportation needs. They accuse the federal government of hanging on to the land “in perpetuity” to ultimately make a profit from it. 

If the Supreme Court agrees to take up Utah’s case, its ruling could have vast implications for not just the 18.5 million BLM acres in Utah, but lands owned by other federal agencies, such as the National Park Service and Forest Service, across the nation. But first, Utah has to convince the high court that the state never actually meant to cede any right to the lands in question.

When Utah officials took their request to the Supreme Court in August they maintained that the federal government made “express and implied promises” about future state jurisdiction over the lands when Utah entered the union. But the state’s own constitution specifies that its residents “agree and declare that they forever disclaim all right and title to the unappropriated public lands lying within the boundaries thereof” and that the United States rightly holds title to those lands.

The challenge arises at a time of resurgent states’ rights fervor and distrust of Washington.

“It’s absolutely a Hail Mary,” said Stephen Bloch, the legal director for the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance. “All of the law says that Utah is wrong, and yet they’re persisting in trying to chart an entirely new path.”

“It’s a weird lawsuit,” is the opinion of John Leshy, the Interior Department’s chief attorney during the Clinton administration and today the Emeritus Harry D. Sunderland and Distinguished Professor at the University of California Hastings College of the Law. “What Utah is claiming here is that they only have a constitutional claim on the ‘unappropriated’ public land that BLM manages. Now, frankly, nobody knows what that means. There’s no general standard definition of ‘appropriated’ or ‘unappropriated.’ Congress hardly ever uses that term. They’re just kind of making it up and they leave it very ill-defined.”

[skaruresonic]

Lakeside

Summary:

James Sunderland doesn't remember why he'd driven his car into the lake. He can't explain why he was rescued, or what led to his decision, but he clings to the hope that someone will help him piece it together before hell freezes over. Douglas Cartland swore he'd never set foot in that godforsaken town again. That vow gets tested when Toluca Lake begins freezing in the middle of summer, against all logic and reason, and resurrects the drowned man he'd given up for dead.

Or, "Nature is healing. Hell is freezing over."

Prologue - Tumblr / AO3

1.

Will you reach heaven unassisted? Or must corpses point the path, Blind eyes glimpsing gold?

Another face swims in.

"Mr. Sunderland: Dr. Takuma again. I know how worn out you must be from the tests you've endured today. Rest assured, we won't keep you for much longer. Before we let you go, though, there is one last thing we must test."

"I need to go home."

"This will move much faster with your cooperation."

The laminated card clipped to the breast pocket claims his name is Robert Takuma. When James observes his face, he sees no connection. Certainly there are pieces that constitute an identity, eyes, nose, and mouth, but no underlying thread stitches them together. They float in a loose amalgamation without coherence or meaning. A mannequin of clothed limbs perches on the stool before him.

"Now, this exercise may seem rather silly and childish on the surface, but it will reveal quite a bit about the nature of your condition. With these flashcards, I will show you a series of illustrations. You tell me which is correct about them. Ready?" He interprets James' silence as consent and raises the first card. "Man or woman?"

James dwells in wordlessness before murmuring, "Woman."

"Why?"

"It's wearing high heels."

"Mm." The card settles in Takuma's lap, replaced by another. "Old or young?"

"Old."

"Why?"

"Cane."

"Good." Hands shuffle the deck. "Blonde or brunette?"

Silence.

"Blonde or brunette, Mr. Sunderland?"

"…I don't know."

"We'll circle back to that," Takuma says. "Which of these is not wearing glasses?"

He chooses the left.

"Point to the figure with a green shirt."

He complies.

"Heart tattoo on the bicep."

That, too.

"Smiling?"

They're treating him like a child.

"If you would, please list three differences between these faces."

He stares at the twin cards. They aren't illustrations but Polaroids. In his left hand, Takuma holds an enlarged facsimile of the photo he keeps in his wallet.

Kept; the lake stole it from him. Where Toluca's minerals leached its color and the water crumbled its grain to dust, the image burns clearly, seared into his mind by the radiant thuribles of the fluorescents burning around them.

In a world where most faces elude him, she shines, clear and lucent.

The other hand shows a horrendously different woman. Pustules swell and blister her complexion like globules of ancient film burning to a close. Melting into a wax grotesquery of herself, deprived of her outer beauty, never abandoning her smile.

The whisper crawls from his vocal cords. "Why do you have pictures of my wife?" A cold trickle forms on the back of his neck as the doctor rises. "No— Who gave you those?"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Sunderland."

---

Damn it, what kind of game do they think they're playing? They've kept him penned in here for way too long. Locking him in a dim room like this, it's insane. More than insane. It's criminal. Mary's coming home tomorrow. He can't be languishing in the hospital himself.

Confined to a padded mattress, James glances down his arm. Gray, waterlogged skin bundles a loose blanket of flesh over atrophied muscles, showing veins and bones in disgustingly salient detail. Blue vessels weave a fine net over his flesh. IVs have blossomed grotesque bruises along its expanse.

Crushing his lips together, James tears the adhesive. The needle he extracts stings like hell, bringing a startling smatter of crimson to the surface.

Monitors scream, a noise he extinguishes by pulling the cord. No need to alert the nurses.

His head throbs as he wheels his bare feet onto the tile.

God, he's exhausted.

In the corner stands a bureau. Rising on unsteady knees, he shambles toward it.

Swinging the door open, he finds a bright silver square staring back at him. He opts to ignore it as he bends down to put on what remains of his clothes. They've taken his jacket, but at least the undershirt doesn't feel too damp when he slips his arm through the sleeve.

First things first. He's got to find a payphone and call his father. He doesn't want to impose on Frank, but he harbors a faint hope that he might have a spare key to their apartment so he can let Mary inside, allowing her to get settled in with her new nurse.

Hell, he'll pay, if that's what his father wants. Frank will protest anything for family; it's more to ease James' mind. He can't have Mary waiting out in the hall.

Tomorrow, he resolves. He'll straighten this out then. Tell his good Samaritans thank you even though he can't stay. Board a bus for North Ashfield.

The prospect of travel makes him nervous. Mary can hardly stand as it is, and… Well. St. Jerome's can't loan her a wheelchair her insurance won't cover.

She could lean on the wall, he supposes, try to slumber out his arrival, but can he gamble on the landlord allowing her to loiter there? Besides, her circulation's poor. Her hands and feet swell with fluid. Even though he finds himself sweating in this balmy air, she'd shiver.

His head sags on its neck. James indulges a new habit he's formed since being admitted and slowly, deliberately pops his knuckles one at a time. His hands have become skeletal, corded things he doesn't recognize; the water has eroded the muscle and fat that used to reside beneath the skin.

Air pockets crackle the joints as he depresses, with long, thin fingers tapering into chalk-white nailbeds. He doesn't feel them. These can't be his. These are borrowed from someone else, a pair of gloves he's forced to wear, coated in small nicks and gouges.

(woodgrain biting into his flesh when he grips the)

He raises his head to face his reflection.

They alleged this was his as well. All of these unsolicited gifts offered him, as though he had to be introduced as a guest to his own body.

The staff hadn't taken too kindly to his refusals. The first time, they insisted. The second, he grew agitated. Please put that away. He'd made his request clear after the numerous hours they'd spent poking and prodding him to ensure his mind remained intact. His patience had worn thin in worry over how long they were keeping him from Mary.

Wasn't a little disorientation after a car accident to be expected? How many more hoops did they want him to jump? He's healthy, isn't he?

(more than she'll ever be)

The third, he lunged to snatch the mirror from the nurse, but missed. Instead, he wound up knocking it out of her hand, accidentally shattering glass in the process.

James froze when the pieces scattered diamonds across the tiles. Disembodied parts flooded the floor. Eyes, lips, ears. Nothing adding up.

The moment he realized what he'd done, a shameful heat suffused his cheeks, pricking needles under his skin. Look at yourself, he thought, the irony of his inability only pushing the thorns deeper. You're acting like a child. What would Mary think?

James gives empty gaze to the glass, the impostor on the other side mirroring his languid movements. Watched by a mask he cannot remove. The eyes that track him aren't really his own. Two broken-bottle green irises. Not too deep. Too shallow.

Fingers uncertain, he traces the contours of this alien terrain, starting from the bridge of his nose downwards, into the dip of his Cupid's bow. The soft streams of breath he releases through his nostrils tickle him.

A thin sheet of epidermis stretched over musculature, bone, and cartilage. It feels too dead an inheritance to claim.

As he watches this strange reflection mimic his movements, he suffers a dark but fleeting impulse to harm it. If he hooked his dirty nails into the flesh and peeled away his doppelganger's false mask, shed his snake's skin layer by layer, there may be a chance he'd reveal something truer underneath.

(or maybe you would find nothing)

[judesbelligoal]

https://www.tumblr.com/judesbelligoal/768037448884305920/what-do-yall-think?source=share

i’m honestly stuck because i don’t think he should go to dortmund and be constantly compared to jude but i also personally don’t know if he’s gonna progress by staying at sunderland

He will always be compared to jude but a move to dortmund would definitely make it worse and I don’t think he would be able to truly forge his own path as a player. I don’t think staying at Sunderland for 1 or 2 more seasons would hurt him, it would allow him to take on a more leading role within the club too

[puppypeter]

(Omega!Roy / Alpha!Jamie anon)

You absolute legend, you've done it again. It's like you have an access point to my brain and can literally transcribe my thoughts!!! EVERY. LAST. TAKE. IS ABSOLUTE PERFECTION‼️‼️‼️💯💯💯💯

My brain is going a hundred miles a minute so buckle up, because this is possibly gonna be the longest ask you'll ever receive:

YES to youth sports culture being WEIRD AF for having an incredibly invasive control over kids' bodily autonomies, ESPECIALLY within an ABO second gender essentialism type way!!

And OOOOHHH Omega Grandpa is absolutely PERFECT!!!! It would set up such a jarring culture shift for Roy when he arrives at Sunderland, to go from a home lead by an Omega patriarch, only to come to a place where Alpha dominance is treated not just as a logical course of action, but as a biological TRUTH.

In my mind, Roy's parents are both emotionally distant but ultimately well meaning betas. Roy's family was implied to be quite poor, so in my mind they both worked, leaving Roy's Grandpa to do the emotional labour of raising Roy, even if Roy's parents were ultimately working to provide for him too. They probably saw Sunderland as Roy's best opportunity: housing, three square meals, access to training that could lead him to an extremely profitable career that they wouldn't be able to provide for him otherwise? It was probably the most practical decision for Roy's future interests, even if it had huge emotional consequences.

This would make it even sadder when Roys grandpa dies, because since both his parents are betas, he had no one to turn to that could understand what he was going through after he presented or show him another path other than the one Sunderland forced him on. And how could he be so ungrateful and go whine to his parents about Sunderland, anyway, when all either of them have ever done is work tirelessly to provide for him and his baby sister?? Thus begins Roy's emotional repression.

I ADORE your take on Roy's time in Sunderland, and I think his presentation would have been even more distressing because every one just ASSUMED that Roy would be an Alpha - since he's such an indisputable prodigy - and when he presented omega, it completely blindsided everyone, a total 'inconvenience', because they had to supply Roy with expensive meds, sort out the even more expensive legal work so the 'big secret' didn't get out, etc. This obviously sets up Roy's internalised idea that his omega needs are a chore and an inconvenience that needs to be catered for.

I also LOVEEEEED your takes on Roy's adult personality, ESPECIALLY about him being touch-starved. SOOO TRUEEEE, that man hasn't had a heat partner in his ENTIRE LIFE!!!! Go through the humiliation of having to rely on someone else??? Roy would literally rather die.

On that note, I think Roy would be both resentful of his own presentation, seeing it as his 'one weakness', but also kind of,,, ashamed? That he so clearly does not fit the typical omega archetype, making him both sneeringly judgemental of 'softer', more stereotypical male omegas and almost,,, jealous of them, of their obvious ease with their instincts and their bodies that Roy has spent an entire LIFETIME battling against.

I think this resentment towards other omegas would, as you say, make him not initially be an advocate for omegas in sports, which is why it'll be SO impactful for Roy personally when he DOES actually step out of the closet and advocate for Omega rights, because it'll be the most obvious sign of how far he's come!!

I also think Phoebe would play a big role in Roy unlearning his instinctive resistance towards his 'omega instincts', because how could loving and caring for and wanting to protect Phoebe ever be a BAD thing, how could it ever make Roy WEAK?

And OMGGGGGG are you a psychic?????? Because Jamie's backstory is absolutely PERFECT!!!! NO NOTES!!!!!! GEORGIES ROLE AND JAMES' INFLUENCE, ITS SO SO BRILLIANTLY EXPLAINED!!!!! 💓💓💓

And speaking of Jamie, an extension of Roy's omegaphobia has TOTALLY gotta be Roy struggling with his attraction to Jamie, at least in the physical sense. And this underlying attraction for one another is DEFINITELY driving up the tension in the hormone addled locker room as you said, lol, and will allllll come to a head when Roy accidentally goes into heat. (The idea of it being kick-started because of all the different medications Roy is on is absolutely BRILLIANT!!)

And OMGGG i didnt even THINK about subliminally bonded RoyJamie!!! That could also be why Roy would latch onto Jamie as a heat partner!!!! YOUR MIIIIINDDD!!!💖💖💖

I also fricking LOVE how this au so perfectly sets up Roy and Jamie as mirrors of each other!!! Because while Jamie struggles with feeling shame over his gentler/softer/more attentive side that is seen as 'not Alpha-like:, ROY struggles with the inverse problem, that his personality is too bossy/dominant/cold to be 'Omega-like'. And OMGGGG could you IMAGINE how cathartic it would be for both of them to realise that they complement each other's internalised issues soo well?? Roy needing a gentler, more submissive Alpha to feel in control and safe, and Jamie needing a more demanding, controlling Omega whose instructions he can follow to feed his attentive instincts and feel like he's providing for them.

Further ABO background: Roy's suppressant heats are short, a day at most, and on a regulated schedule, but they are EXCRUCIATING, cramps and fever and exhaustion and chills and delirium. Basically all the worst parts of a heat with none of the good. So can you IMAGINE how life altering a natural heat with Jamie would be?? Jamie, who would be soo attentive to Roy's pleasure, literally single-mindedly focused on making the experience as good as physically possible for Roy. It would literally blow Roy's MIND, and would most likely be extremely emotional. The idea that his heats can be purely about his PLEASURE? HIS wants, HIS needs? How could he NOT grow attached to Jamie after that???

I think this fic would be fast-burn in terms of Royjamies physical intimacy (because of Roy's heat), but the slow burn comes in with the EMOTIONAL intimacy. Sloooowly coming to terms with the fact that: no, I don't feel this pull towards this person because of simple base instincts like physical desire, it's because I actually LIKE them for who they are as a person, for how they make me laugh, for how they take care of me, for how they understand me more than i ever thought anyone ever could and uh oh im in love.

Thank you thank you THANK YOU for sharing your brilliant thoughts on this au, the effort you put in to responding to all my rambling asks is SO greatly appreciated!! 💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨

I saw your ask earlier and it made me so happy even during this long long crappy day at work!! 🥰🥰🥰 Sorry for only getting to it now, putting it below the cut for the sake of everyone' scrolling but I love long asks!! 💙💙💙

I love how you expanded on the omega grandad thing, like that alone with baby roy could be its own stand alone fic of a series. Like that part of roy being brought up by an omega and two betas is so perfect. I feel like his grandpa would also have been the kind that is clear on what is expected of an omega but also very informed on omega rights, progress and would stand his ground against omega mistreatments by alphas etc which is what makes his grandad driving him to Sunderland even worse!! But maybe they had some connection to there and he initially got placed with a nice older omega lady since he was just a 9 year old, much younger than the other kids and it was expected he be around someone that could "mummy" him.

Maybe there was a change in the club ownership/management in the few years after or maybe when he came back from home at christmas post-grandad's death he was very much acting up, they placed him somewhere else, maybe a host family with other kids? And he was kind of labelled as being angry and mean (he was just grieving the only person who ever cared about him!) and problematic and they constantly reminded him what opportunity they were giving him etc and kind of brainwashed him about how he should be grateful to them and the team, since no one would be taking care of him otherwise.

And it only gets worse once he presents as omega of course. I have many times thought of possible storylines for roy's past and Sunderland as a place that laters gets outed for abuse is definitely on that list (regardless of omega/alpha stuff).

I do like your idea of both beta "well meaning" parents - there's a hell of a lot of emotional neglect that can come from that.

And what you mentioned about him feeling like an inconvenience goes so well with it. Because he would have ended up being super-independant, learning to avoid relying on other people which then applies to Jamie too (but on a slightly different note.. the shame/embarrassment of not really knowing what to do? His grandad would have given him the talk when he presented but he passed too early!!)

He definitely would have very complex feelings around being an omega. For starters, he does not fit the omega beauty standards. He might be leaner than other footballers, but he's not "delicate" or "pretty" (lie!! he's so pretty!!) and his body has also gone through changes due to the medication, like being very hairy (jamie is so horny for it)! And god knows he has not learnt how to take care of himself as a omega either, because he was trying to distance himself to not be found out so he does not know how to make himself pretty for his alpha, dress nicely, etc

I feel like him coming out and advocating for omega rights could be linked to reconnecting to his grandad in some way. Think post-Amsterdam bike ride for example, but perhaps he finds his grandad diaries? or someone finds him while doing a research paper/book on his grandfather contribution to some important policy change 30+ years ago (I'm looking at you Trent Crimm!!)

Something that would bring it full circle, make him realise that his grandad did not really abandon him in some way as he had done anything to ensure better rights for him even when he didn't know he'd be an omega (but grandad knew, he always knew... something something noted in his journal about the way a very very young roy cared for all living creatures, especially the small ones that couldn't defend themselves) >>> present day roy advocating for omega rights in sports, but in particular for the treatment of kids in academies as they are the ones who can't defend themselves. And yes, totally linked to Phoebe too and feeling that need to protect her. Something around meeting Georgie in Manchester and seeing an omega mother be so fiercely protective of her alpha son, making that almost aggressive protection be something to be proud of, something that doesn't make him a bad omega for speaking up and being loud and 'aggressive' towards abusers.

(I won't expand on jamie & georgie simply because he's a mummy's boy in every version ever for me and she's a baddie!!)

"Because while Jamie struggles with feeling shame over his gentler/softer/more attentive side that is seen as 'not Alpha-like:, ROY struggles with the inverse problem, that his personality is too bossy/dominant/cold to be 'Omega-like'." >>> you described it so well!!

I do think Jamie wants to do a very good job for his omega, he wants to dote over him and ensure he has everything he needs and is fed and warm and loved (some stepfather Simon influence there too perhaps)

I love your added angst of roy's suppressant heats being extremely painful (we love giving roy chronic conditions over here so). I do wonder if maybe there's some of this first, before they end up together, that jamie does witness him being in so much pain (lord i love the angst of a character witnessing the other going through hell and unable to do much). Maybe jamie knew already what it was or maybe not, maybe it was before they got closer and roy comes across as very mean and angry when he's just in pain. Maybe the first time they are together roy is so worried because if he normally hurts this much = he thinks the pain he goes through is what a normal heat is meant to feel like, imagine how much worse it will be if he has to put that thing in him (lolz) or have an alpha touch him all over when his entire body hurts.

But I also like the idea of them jumping straight into it physically vs taking their time emotionally! Always love a good slow burn (and hey, that could be part three of the series eheh)

[partyinthemysterymachine]

(design ask anon) Thanks for answering. It was cool to learn but I'm kind of confused now if they're so different why not make them original characters? I read a bit of your fic and it seems like its that way there too. What makes them be Harry and James if they're so different now? Sorry if it's blunt questions and thanks again. Hope you have a good day

chinhands.

anon. come here. come here come goooood and close and let me put my arm around you.

now, a lot of people might not like hearing this!! but i’m gonna letcha in on something, something that is the honest truth:

the moment that someone in fandom touches a character that isn’t theirs to do something with them - such as write a fanfic, draw some silly comics - they automatically become something of an original character.

you know why?

because the character isn’t theirs.

every single fanartist who has at all gone off the beaten track on character design, has ever made canonical story tweaks, made them trans, made them a different sexuality from canon, aged up or aged down, given different costumes, portrayed them with disorders not explicitly stated in canon, switched race, etc, has created an original character with origin elements in canon character.

every single fanfic author who has at all gone off the beaten track on character design, has ever made canonical story tweaks, made them trans, made them a different sexuality from canon, aged up or aged down, given different costumes, portrayed them with disorders not explicitly stated in canon, switched race, etc, has created an original character with origin elements in canon character.

and so what if they are?

[heather voice] so. what?

none of us own the rights to silent hill. none of us were there when the concept and game and stories were created. this is fan work. we create fan creations. we put our own spin on it! that’s why headcanons are called headcanons.

our fan versions of characters are automatically an AU. they are automatically original characters with elements of, and roots in [insert fandom here] because we literally cannot create anything 100% canon.

it’s impossible. you cannot create anything 100% canon because you do not own the character or the franchise, and thus you cannot safely say that they would say, do, or wear that, interact with x y z that way, go there first, do that last, react to that event that way, think that way, etc - and call it 100% canon.

what i’ve created is Harry Mason and James Sunderland. i have in the past often called them “my” Harry and James as distinguishers, and i know others in fandom do this with their own iterations as well.

and they are still Harry Mason and James Sunderland.

so i’ll be brave!! and i’ll thump my chest and i’ll say it loud and proud!!!!:

Harry Mason James Sunderland, Heather Mason, Douglas Cartland, and all others within GOOMT and all AUs besides are all my original characters with core elements and inspiration based in Konami Entertainment’s Silent Hill franchise.

and so is everyone else’s.

and good for them. :)

just try to have fun in fandom! because otherwise you’re gonna feel stifled, discourage other people from having fun and being creative, or even yourself! whether or not someone acknowledges canon, “acknowledges” that they made an original character with elements, goes far off the beaten path of what anyone feels is “acceptable” to still make that character “that character”, etc — not your business.

it literally does not matter.

are you enjoying the content?? yes? GREAT! stick around we got coffee and cookies and a whole bunch of fun activities planned!! are you not enjoying it? no? well thanks for stopping by, you have my card, take a water for your travels but don’t loiter.

the canon hasn’t left. i am not demanding anyone call my ideas canon. i’m not expecting anyone to find it gospel. i don’t want that anyway. if you don’t like it it’s fine; the canon is still there.

it’s okay.

at the very, very core of it all, it’s best and wise to remember:

who cares.

[charlesandmartine]

Wednesday 13th November 2024

By the time we were up at 6.00, most of our fellow travellers had left or were preparing to leave. Now is the time to travel whilst temperatures are less punishing. Masochists had been camping in tiny tents overnight not far from our chalet. It is inconceivable what it must be like to share the temperature and flies with an overwhelming desire to sleep in somethingnot much bigger than a shroud. They are now long gone. Still little traffic on the Barkly, although there were sounds overnight of the huge roadtrains ploughing through the darkness. A four trailer train, possibly weighing in at 200 tons and travelling at 110 kph, would not be too aware of the wildlife it may encounter, and there certainly is encounter judging by the butcher's slab seen in daylight hours. Entire cows are far from uncommon. But these vehicles are designed and protected to withstand such mishaps.

By 7.00, the Roadhouse maintenance teams are ramping up for a new day; lawns need to be sprinkled with powerful jets of water to protect that fresh green oasis appearance, paths blown clear of the 24 hrs of debris from the lush trees, the clean laundry hanging out on sturdy washing lines next to our chalet.

By 10, the 4 month old Ford Ranger, which has sat idle since Monday, was loaded and fired up ready for the relatively short 260 km journey ahead of us.

We searched for places of interest on route but struggled to find any. However, we did come across a monument at Avon Downs in Northern Territories, not far from the Queensland border which marks the place where, 4,000 sheep arrived, completing the longest ever sheep droving trip in Australian history, led by Wallace Caldwell. He and his men and 11,000 sheep left Rich Avon near Donald in north western Victoria in September 1882. The journey took 16 months and covered 3,500 km. The story was told in The Longest Drive by Tom Guthrie.

Then there was the sign, Welcome to Queensland. Surreal set in such flat plains stretching far and wide. We are in big cattle country, having a rich history of droving. And the clocks lurched forward 30mins.

The town of Camooweal, where we are spending the night, can be found by the Georgina River. The first Britisher to take a lease here was George Sunderland in 1865, arriving with 8,000 sheep. He didn't really hit it off too well with the aboriginies who were already living here, coupled with stock losses attributed to wild dingos and wedge tailed eagles. With the result he abandoned his lease. The Englishmen Benjamin Crosthwaite and William Tetley, who were marginally more successful, took up the lease again in 1876. A town sprang up in 1885.

The town soon had a reputation for cattle. During the wet season, some 1500 head of cattle would graze by the Georgina River awaiting telegrams as contracts to purchase from miles around. Up until the 1960s, teams of drovers would take them out. Gradually, roadtrains would replace these drovers and now the only but important link with this heritage is an annual Drovers Camp Festival in August.

Today, Camooweal is a bit of a ghost town. Population 236 at the time of writing this. Roadtrains carrying cattle rattle through disturbing the peace and tranquility of the town and its 4 drinkers sipping Castlemaine 4xxxx on the verandah of the Hotel Bar and then when the dust has settled again, the town returned to its slumber. A boarded up corrugated iron Heritage Centre had a convenient horse tethering rail as in a cowboy movie. The post office and supermarket was closed, as was the Drovers Museum. We felt obliged under the circumstances take a break from the stress of such a busy place to repair to the hotel pub ourselves and partake of a schooner of Stonehouse beer. A schooner always sounds huge, but I can assure you that it is merely a large half pint. Refreshing though in a chilled glass.

Our digs for the night score highly in the basic section, highly in the fragrance of carbolic section, poor in the 'let's make the establishment look chique, classy and expensive' section. I don't recall how much we are paying for tonight's experience, but I suspect it's too much. However, on the up side, we are only here one night, and it is clean. It has to be with that much carbolic! Our fellow travellers, I suspect, may make their living with trucks.

Chicken and salad again tonight due once again to the lack of cooking equipment. And another schooner down the road of the excellent Stonehouse.

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 11

“All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” | Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

Pairing: Reader's Choice Rating: T Words: 539

Content Warnings: the Blitz

—

24 May 1943 Sunderland, Tyne and Wear

Years later he would still remember how that day began. 

And he would not be able to forget how it ended.

The sun was blazing, hot on his skin, painting the rubble from the bombing a week and a half ago in golden light. Everything seemed less dark and dreary. It was easier to forget that they’d been at war for almost two years for the space of an afternoon.

 Jackets, sleeveless pullovers, and ties had been dropped at the edge of the field after their lessons were over for the day. The thud of shoes against the football was joined by the laughing and jeering of his classmates. 

But only one smile burned its way into his brain.

Then there was the sound of plane engines. 

The wave of panic was different this time. Last time there had been confusion and then horrified realization. This time everything stopped for just a moment. The deep breath before the plunge. And then everyone was moving. He stood still. He couldn’t go home. He lived right near the South Pier. His mother had made him promise not to come home if the bombing started again. 

“Come on!” His hand was grabbed and he was dragged away from the park where they had been playing joyfully just moments before. He let himself be dragged along, down streets, turning down an alley, a path between greenery. 

“Our things!” He remembered in a rush. His father had threatened him if anything happened to this coat. 

“Staying alive is more important!” The grip on his hand tightened.

“Where are we going?” He panted. Fear made his chest tight. He had to shout his question again to be heard over the scream of the planes. They were so low now that he thought they were going to knock over the chimneys.

He cried out when he was yanked into a recessed doorway. He buried his face in his friend’s chest and covered his ears. 

But he could still hear the bombs. The concussion of the explosions hit them like physical blows. They hit him in the chest and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t scream with the weight of the explosion sitting on his chest.

Then hands were on his. Gentle and unsure. “I’m here.”

Then the planes moved on and they were running again until they half jumped half fell down the stairs into a basement apartment. The rooms were crowded and overly warm. It was filled with the smell of sweat, fear, and urine. Smells that only became more oppressive the longer they stayed. The sound of the planes was muffled, the concussions of the explosions did not hit them with the same force. 

They tucked themselves into a corner on a folded up blanket. They curled close to each other, heads ducked, breathes mingling. They pretended they were anywhere else but here. They imagined that they were alone together somewhere quiet and green. A place where there wasn’t the roar of planes or the dust of destroyed buildings settling on every surface to sting your eyes and make you cough. 

His hand found the other boy’s and their fingers twined together in the darkness.

--

Taglist: Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

[astrosagga2]

Sunderkand Path, a chapter from the Ramayana, holds immense spiritual significance. It strengthens faith, removes obstacles, and brings peace and prosperity. Regular recitation is believed to invoke divine blessings, protect from negative energies, and cultivate courage, devotion, and mental clarity, fostering overall spiritual growth and positivity.

[unitedbydevils]

Match Review: Manchester City U18s 1-2 Manchester United U18s

MANCHESTER IS RED (go with it)

When United are mint, everything is mint, and fuck me are United's Under-18s mint - and also double winners. Up the fucking reds!

United started strongly at Leigh Sports Village, with a driving run and fizzing shot from Ethan Williams in the 3rd minute testing City keeper Brits. Three minutes later and Ruben Curley was doing the exact same again, but to no avail. Then, one minute later, magic happened.

A deep ball from just over the halfway line by Nolan lofted into Ethan Wheatley's path perfectly, but the touch and control to bring it down into a shooting action was technique Dimitar Berbatov would have applauded. Unreal composure and confidence, and topped off with a great finish at the near post past the stunned Brits.

City came back at United, and the game opened up into more of a back-and-forth affair, trading shots on goal, but United's organisation kept a very tight defensive structure and limited the Citizens from any real threat on Elyh Harrison's goal - not that the wunderkind needs too much help. Kid's a future star keeper.

The middle of the half approached and Harrison punts a goal kick up field towards RW James Scanlon. The Gibraltan international nods the ball wide to attacking full back James Nolan, who drives a curled pass forward along the ground into the path of Ethan Wheatley. A defender slides, he knocks it, but Wheatley has the pace. He nips in, rounds the keeper, slots home. 2-0 United and LSV is in bits. SCENES.

City kept up the battle though, and a great killer through ball nearly opened United up in the 34th minute but for a huge body interception and block by Harrison in net. City captain Heskey was potentially fouled in the United box by Jack Kingdon - no foul given though - but otherwise come half time there could be no complaints at United's lead.

The second half was more City, with United making substitutes for rotation's sake but also due to the dearth of depth in the first team squad meaning certain promising youngsters have been requested by Erik Ten Hag for Wednesday's Premier League game against Sheffield United.

Both sides had reasonable chances on goal but nothing too serious until Stephen Mfuni nodded home from a corner to give City five minutes of hope... which was almost realised but for a fantastic full-stretch save by Harrison off Alfa-Ruprecht's header.

City's play and persistence did deserve a goal, and with the arguable penalty in the first half, on another day it could have been a different affair. It is nice to see the best two teams make the final though, and make it a memorable contest.

It's the result that matters though, and the silverware is ours. The league and now the cup. What a bunch of lads.

Two games remain this season - both at home. Sunderland visit us this Saturday, and then there's one last game versus Everton on May 4th. Lets end strong. GGMU.

[warwickroyals]

queen rosalyn was mentioned in a recent post, so: can you give us any lore about her, her family, and how they managed to marry into sunderland royalty? if louisa had ended up queen, do you think she would have resisted and opposed rosalyn's politics once she reached majority?

This is actually a very helpful question, anon! Thank you for not getting mad since I took forever to answer <3

Uh, under the cut is a shit ton about the American Civil War and that means talk about slavery, so read at your own risk.

So, Rosalyn as I've made it clear was a Daughter of the Confederacy, like, a literal OG one a la Varina Anne Davis, born and raised on a plantation in South Carolina during a very contentious time. She had a very charmed childhood (like completely obvious to the horrors of slavery and raised as a true Southern Belle), but everything she loved became threatened by the inevitable Civil War and what she saw as the threat of Northern aggression.

Rosalyn in my head has always been similar to Scarlett O'Hara (Vivian Leigh's character from Gone With the Wind), she was absolutely stunning, at least appearance-wise. Sunderland and the USA are right next to each other, so it was typical for Sunderlandian royals to venture into the USA for both political and social reasons. I'd like to imagine that Rosalyn met her future husband Louis at a ball in Maryland.

Now, Louis IV, as I've mentioned before, assumed the throne at 15 years old and was of a rather weak constitution. Due to his poor health, he was used to being babied and pretty much always got what he wanted. So, giving this kid basically absolute power was bound to cause issues. For Louis, it was love at first sight and Rosalyn's family, realizing Louis's position, urged her to pursue him. They had a whirlwind Romeo & Juliet-style romance, heavily manipulated by the Southern planter class, who correctly predicted international opinion turning against slavery, and wanted to ensure Sunderland would remain at the very least neutral during a Civil War. There was no better way to promote their interests than a puppet Confederate queen who had a king wrapped around her fingers.

Basically everyone in Louis's inner circle begged him not to marry Rosalyn: Parliament, family, friends, etc. But Louis married her anyway, Sunderland lacked the proper checks and balances to prevent it (they'd fix this later). People were outraged and opinions about Queen Rosalyn ranged from dismissive to downright murderous. In Sunderland, she became a scapegoat for the coming war in America. The more things worsened in America, the more she was resented. The whole nation held its breath when she became pregnant in 1859, and rejoiced when the child turned out to be a girl.

Sunderland really lucked out with Louis's early death. For one thing, he died before the Civil War started and for another, he died before he could father a son with Rosalyn. Both prevented Rosalyn from really doing any damage or having any institutional power to promote Confederate interests. She had been Queen for just under three years. She fled Sunderland with her infant daughter mere weeks after Louis died, fearing for her life. The new king, Louis's cousin George, was fully intending to make an example of Rosalyn and Louisa if they came in the way of his accession, so it was a smart move.

However, the home Rosalyn returned to wasn't the same. Several of her brothers died during the Civil War, and Big Dick William Tecumseh Sherman marched his soldiers straight across South Carolina, destroying any plantations in his path. Suffice it to say, Rosalyn kind of lost it after that, she never recovered and became a recluse until her death.

As for Louisa, she was referred to by Southerners as the Queen of Sunderland for most of her life, but it was more sarcastically than with any real deference. She never attempted to take back her birthright and actually signalled her loyalty to King George several times. George, as a result, left her to live her life in the USA. The cousins were even on friendly terms until Louisa's death.

Lousia was still raised in the South and her mother probably spoon-fed her a wrapped education based on the pro-South Lost Cause narrative (Here's an amazing video about what that means, but it's basically the myth that the Civil War was not centred on slavery, like, "States Rights" and all that BS), but Louisa rejected appeals to becoming a spokesperson for Neo-Confederate groups. She was a very private person and valued a life out of the spotlight.

Now, had she become queen she would have almost certainly been separated from her mother and raised by the State with George serving as regent until she reached adulthood. Rosalyn would have had little power to do anything about it. There was no chance of Louisa being a Confederate sympathizer without getting assassinated. Plus, after the Civil War, there was no Confederate States to represent anyway.

[boredtechnologist]

Konami's "Silent Hill 2" for the PlayStation 2

Reviewing Konami's "Silent Hill 2" from a philosophical perspective necessitates a deep dive into its narrative structure, thematic elements, and atmospheric design, exploring the existential, psychological, and allegorical dimensions it encompasses.

1. The Exploration of Guilt and Redemption: Central to "Silent Hill 2" is the theme of guilt, embodied by the protagonist, James Sunderland, who is drawn to the fog-enshrouded town of Silent Hill by a letter from his deceased wife. The game's narrative revolves around James's confrontation with his past actions and his psychological struggle with guilt and denial. This theme resonates with the philosophical exploration of guilt as a moral and existential concept, raising questions about atonement, forgiveness, and the human capacity for self-deception in the face of unbearable truths.

2. The Psychological Landscape as a Reflection of the Self: Silent Hill, as a setting, functions not just as a physical location but as a manifestation of the characters' internal psyches. The town's shifting realities and nightmarish visions are reflective of the characters' fears, traumas, and repressed desires. This aspect of the game invites interpretation through a Jungian lens, where the external environment symbolizes the inner turmoil and unconscious mind of the characters. It prompts philosophical inquiries into the nature of reality – whether it is an objective truth or a subjective construct shaped by our fears, desires, and memories.

3. The Human Condition and the Search for Meaning: "Silent Hill 2" delves into the human condition's existential aspects, particularly the search for meaning in a world that often appears chaotic and indifferent. James’s journey is emblematic of the existential quest for purpose and understanding in the face of suffering and loss. The game’s narrative structure, filled with ambiguity and open to multiple interpretations, mirrors life's inherent uncertainty and the individual's role in constructing their own meaning and purpose.

4. The Concept of Identity and Transformation: Throughout the game, James encounters various characters, each dealing with their personal demons and distorted realities. These encounters and the transformations they undergo serve as a broader commentary on the fluidity of identity and the human propensity for change and adaptation. The game challenges players to contemplate the essence of their identity and the factors that shape and transform it over time, whether through personal experiences, traumas, or interactions with others.

5. Morality, Ethics, and the Subjectivity of Justice: "Silent Hill 2" poses complex moral and ethical dilemmas, often blurring the lines between right and wrong. The game's narrative and the actions of its characters raise questions about justice and morality, especially in contexts where traditional moral frameworks seem inadequate. This ambiguity invites players to reflect on the nature of justice and the subjectivity of moral judgments, especially when dealing with profound personal and psychological issues.

6. The Role of Suffering and Pain in Personal Growth: The game’s emphasis on suffering and pain, both physical and psychological, can be interpreted through the philosophical lens of suffering as a catalyst for personal growth and self-awareness. James's experiences in Silent Hill, though harrowing, lead him on a path of self-discovery and potential redemption. This aspect of the game aligns with existentialist and even Buddhist notions that suffering is an integral part of the human experience and a crucial component in the journey towards self-realization and enlightenment.

7. The Nature of Love and Obsession: Finally, "Silent Hill 2" explores the complexities of love, particularly the fine line between love and obsession. The game questions the nature of James's love for his wife and the extent to which it is pure or tainted by selfishness and obsession. This exploration invites players to consider the multifaceted nature of love and the potential for destructive tendencies within it.

In summary, Konami's "Silent Hill 2" is a philosophically rich and profound game. It delves into themes of guilt and redemption, the psychological reflection of self, the existential search for meaning, identity and transformation, the complexities of morality and ethics, the role of suffering in personal growth, and the nature of love and obsession. Through its immersive narrative and atmospheric design, it offers a deep and introspective experience, prompting players to engage with challenging existential and psychological questions.

[bikepackinguk]

Day Sixteen

What a journey of a day!

Starting off just outside Seaham to wake up early and allow a swift push through Sunderland. Whilst the route zig zags a bit through town, it is at least mostly out of traffic, and was able to get through and round to Roker without too much difficulty.

Heading up the coast from Roker is a nice little ride, and the sun was shining once again to make for another lovely day ahead.

Around the lip of the coast drops into the ferry station, which I was able to step right onto as the doors shut and headed over to land at North Shields.

A quick stop at CK Cycles to replace a missing screw on my cleats was necessary and very appreciated.

From there, it's due East out to the very pretty Tynemouth, and then a glorious stretch along the coast along to Blyth for a lazy lunch.

A meander down the more scenic river route provided some necessary shade from the day's heat, before looping back out and back from Cambois.

NCN 1 at this point follows a fully segregated path adjacent to the very busy A189, which whilst fast and flat doesn't make for the most entertaining ride.

Fortune smiles again though as I caught up with a group of Irish cyclists riding the Coast & Castles stretch of the route, and was able to pass the time with a nice chat and trading tales.

Plus I got to see a red kite hanging over a patch of shrubland before swooping down!

The A road is left to venture through Lynemouth, before descending down again to the coast proper.

It was like entering another country after the prior part of the day. The road opened up right along the coast, and was gloriously flat and smooth. I hardly even noticed the miles falling away.

I was quite shocked when I took a break for dinner to realise I'd made it all the way up to Druridge by that point. Had a nice little chill out getting some shade and heading down to the beach to appreciate the view and touch the sea once more.

At this point it felt like I'd come far further than I'd ever expected to do for the day, but there were still plenty of daylight hours left, so why not go for more?

The trails through Druridge Country Park are a little rocky but manayto make reasonable time across them, continuing round the coastline to Amble for another break for the kegs and some supplies.

The day was beginning to fade at this point but being this far into the day, I'd like to end close enough to the border to make Scotland at a reasonable point tomorrow, so continued to plough along the road making nice speed through Warkworth.

Alnmouth is in sight, though I feel continuing further at this juncture could leave me being caught short, and there are plenty of fields and footpaths nearby which may make good beds for the night.

What a day! I can barely believe I should be hitting Scotland tomorrow, just 17 days into this trip. Here's to tomorrow!