#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.

[horriblehistorieschild]

WELCOME!!

[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.”

[writerofautumnnights]

THE UNSPOKEN CONNECTION — JOBE BELLIGHAM

☆ pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!oc 

☆ trope: age gap - language barrier - opposites attract

resume: Sarah moves to Manchester for a language exchange program, struggling with her English and hoping to find inspiration for her writing. When she unexpectedly crosses paths with Jobe, a 19-year-old football star, sparks fly—but the age gap and language barrier make things complicated.

can a connection built on misunderstandings and awkward moments turn into something real, or will their differences keep them apart?

as well as the translator, let's meet the lovebirds!

Sarah Lima ࣪⭑

👩🏽‍💻 sarah is a 27-year-old who’s navigating her twenties, still figuring out what she truly wants. She’s currently on a language exchange in the UK to improve her English and hopefully find a path that resonates with her—writing or maybe even arts. She's a bit of a dreamer, loves watching romantic comedies, and has a deep connection to her family, especially her dad. Sarah's not your typical fan, but she has a soft spot for football and knows Jobe Bellingham as the younger brother of one of the most famous players. She’s fun, energetic, and constantly curious about the world. But, deep down, she's trying to find her place.

Jobe Bellingham ⭑

⚽️ the 19-year-old football sensation, is making a name for himself at Sunderland. Known for his skills on the field and his ability to stay cool under pressure, Jobe’s also a man of mystery, keeping his private life behind closed doors. He’s a bit of a perfectionist, always pushing to be better but often battling his own insecurities. Despite his fame, he’s trying to navigate life in the shadow of his brother's success. Jobe’s charming, confident, but a little guarded when it comes to love. His heart’s not ready to settle, but maybe meeting someone like Sarah could change that.

Their worlds collide when Sarah, in a twist of fate, ends up in Sunderland. Sparks fly—though neither is sure they’re ready for what comes next. What starts as a chance encounter quickly turns into something neither of them expected, and as their relationship evolves, they’ll both have to face their insecurities and open up in ways they never thought would happen.

✧༚ ˎˊ˗ info about The Unspoken Connection !

series warnings: language, a bit of angst, awkward flirting, football fan culture, hints of romance, some miscommunication (because who doesn’t love a good misunderstanding?), mentions of social media and fandom, a touch of drama, and possibly a slow burn (just a little!). Definitely a "will they, won’t they" situation.

 inspo: this idea is inspired by the unpredictable twists life throws your way—meeting someone who feels like you’ve known them forever, but also like they’re a stranger. Add a little football obsession, quirky fandom moments, and some serious self-discovery, and you've got yourself a fun ride. Also, the song Love Language by Kehlani was a major inspiration, setting the tone for the connection between the characters!

keara’s imessage: Hey y’all! First time I’m posting about my original characters on here, I’m so excited 🤩. I promise not all the lyrics will be directly related to the plot, but I’m all about the energy and vibe—so expect that to set the tone for the story. The vibe? Some awkward moments, a little too much social media lurking, and some football player drama (you know the kind). I'll keep the humor flowing and hope you’ll enjoy the ride. I don’t have a set schedule yet, but stay tuned for more chapters and updates—let’s dive in!

This content may include some adult or sexual themes. If you're underage, please be mindful and skip this one. Thanks for understanding!

P.S.: Please excuse any mistakes in the writing, English isn't my first language. Hope it’s still fun to read!

taglist: since I don’t have a solid audience yet, let me know if you’d like to be tagged in our future fics!

dividers by @cafekitsune

pictures from pinterest and twitter

faceclaim: @/amaka.ae on ig!

THE UNSPOKEN CONNECTIONS ! ✨ smut**

1. FIRST ENCOUNTER ✅

2. LOST IN TRANSLATION ✅

3. IN THE MOMENT ✅

4. GETTING CLOSER ✅**

5. THIS IS REAL ✅

6. CONFUSION

coming soon!

7. SELF-REFLECTION

coming soon!

8. THE SEPARATION

coming soon!

9. THE REALIZATION

coming soon!

10. TAKING A CHANCE

coming soon!

11. HAPPY ENDING

coming soon!

last update: july 7, 2025

keara 💋

[fanficrocks]

Thursday Thursday and a WIP snippet

The proud parents, one of whom might have loved too well but not wisely. Image from Roger's website (all-allam.com)

The wayward son, who can yet find his path back.

WIP Title: A Good Lad (aka The Redemption of Sam Thursday)

Post-canon fic focused on the three Thursdays who had to move well away from Oxford for their own safety.

Win sets her knitting aside with alacrity and reaches out for the envelope Fred is holding out to her. It is their quarterly letter from Joanie and Jim, finally here after all the twists and turns on its journey. Those same twists and turns that were put in place almost 15 years ago now in order to protect them from the bicycle gang sworn to wreak vengeance on Sam, and in some convoluted way she doesn’t understand, also on Fred. Which is why they are still in this cottage in Whitburn, a few miles north of Sunderland and a long, long way from Oxford. Her eyes dim as she eagerly grasps the envelope and tears it open, arthritic hands be damned. It is reassuringly fat, promising a long chatty letter and photographs of the grandchildren they see all too rarely. For their own safety, as Fred reminds her each time the melancholy threatens. For their own safety, the grandchildren have to come here through circuitous routes to spend a week or two at the seaside with who they believe are friends of their Granny and Grandy. But it could be worse, she acknowledges. At least for those few weeks in summer, this cottage—with its flower garden in front and the crooked little path down to the beach at the back—comes alive. As do their hearts, both hers and Fred’s.

Thoughts?

[colemorrison]

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ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ɪᴛ

"I killed someone." You said next, grabbing his attention, your eyes were wide, like you hadn't meant to admit it. "Not literally. Well, it's like this. I was born a girl, she was so sweet, a struggling kid and well. I'm me now, meaning she's gone. I killed her." James tried to follow, nodding along as you spoke, should he come clean too?

James Sunderland x FTM! Reader Warning's : GRAPHIC descriptions of self harm, blood, cutting and burning and obviously killing people. Word Count : 793

══════════════════

His pacing only made you more anxious, this town was a prison to everyone who crossed it's path, but at least it had brought you and James together. You stood sliding into a different room, you couldn't handle any more noises, it was overstimulating and made you crave the thin little blade, the way it sat in-between your fingers, the way it cut through the skin on your body. Your lighter, it was your best friend, watching the way your skin would heat up, burning the little hairs.

James peeked through the door way, soft features and puppy eyes looking for you. When they met with your sad broken eyes his nonexistent ears practically flattened. “Did I upset you? I didn’t mean to.. Bother you, was it the pacing?” He slid into the room, standing awkwardly by your side, he twiddled his fingers, every few seconds looking over at you. He knew the look in your eyes, the look of craving harm, wishing pain on yourself.

“It’s not worth it. Harming yourself..” Your silence broke his heart, he hated it, he wanted to fix it, to take your pain, triple it and give it to himself. He reached over, long fingers lacing with yours, he wanted to fix it, to help you so you didn't become the way he was. Living in a constant state of guilt and regret for what you did was something you two almost bonded over, he knows what he did and you know what you've done. You both killed her, you, a young girl and he, his late wife.

Neither of you had told each other what you've done, it felt wrong, to tell people you're a murderer, someone who had blood drenched on their hands. But the feeling of guilt and regret were noticeable, trembling hands, wandering eyes. "Thank you." The man lit up at your voice coming towards his ears, it was sweet, a twinge of gentleness that he craved, his eyes wandered to your laced fingers, your skin looked so soft, it felt so soft. Living for so long without comforting touches or gentle affection drove him mad.

"I killed someone." You said next, grabbing his attention, your eyes were wide, like you hadn't meant to admit it. "Not literally. Well, it's like this. I was born a girl, she was so sweet, a struggling kid and well. I'm me now, meaning she's gone. I killed her." James tried to follow, nodding along as you spoke, should he come clean too?

"Me too." He shook his head trying to find the right words, how could he say this in a way that didn't sound insane. "I killed someone too, my wife." James closed his eyes tightly, fearing you'd scream or leave, he'd understand. God the guilt haunted him he shouldn't have done it, but he did. It's too late to go back now.

"Oh." Silence swallowed you both whole again, you never let go though, nails gently digging into his skin, he liked it, it was grounding almost, feeling pain kept him awake. "I guess we're both bad people then huh?" It was true, wasn't it? You killed people, but does that mean you're a bad person, does one bad thing mean being a bad person?

James didn't reply, subconsciously leaning toward you and pressing his forehead into your shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know I've taken this whole role of protecting you this whole time and now you've just found out I'm not worthy to protect you." You looked down at your hands, either James didn't see the fresh burns or maybe he didn't want to bother you so he stayed quiet.

"I trust you." Those words said I love you in a million different ways, why did you trust him? How could you trust him after what he did to his wife, after he confessed to it. He sniffled, anxiety melting away, you trusted him?

"Why? I mean I killed her-" You turned to him with a small smile, looking at the way he anxiously tapped his foot on the ground, you gently moved him, manoeuvring yourself to lay your head on his lap, he was comfy, a soft blush coated his cheeks. He looked so handsome in this light, the fog and cold of the town was miles away in this moment.

"What have I got to lose? Death is death, it'll happen anyway, at least if you kill me, I'll die by the hands of a handsome man." It was a dumb phrase, cheesy even, it was something that would be said in those stupid romance movies that people squealed over. But it was true, he was a handsome man, resembling a wet dog whose ears were flat due to the rain.

[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!

[plumsfile]

I think Utd would benefit from Jobe being in the squad. Also it’s best if he doesn’t follow the same path Jude has.

Me too I see loads of people saying no but I think it would be a good move for jobe but I think he should do 1 more season at Sunderland before he goes prem

If he goes to a club that plays the younger guys more then he’ll be fine epl next season. Chelsea or Man City will be a good option for him

[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.”

[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.

[floatiessmx]

i think another year at sunderland would be the best option for jobe even if they are not promoted. everyone is desperate for him to get a big move but they need to understand his career path will not be like jude’s, he doesn’t have to move abroad or to a big club at this age.

i honestly agree theres no need to rush regardless of promotion he is only 19 and doing great

[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)

[unitedbydevils]

Match Review: Manchester United Women 3-1 Sunderland Women

My time to shine, because I was on photo duty again so there's no shortage of pics here.

An early goal after just seven minutes, brilliantly assisted by Celin Bizet below, saw Leah Galton strike again with a backpost header low and back across the face of goal to the near post, bamboozling Sunderland keeper Demi Lambourne.

Fun fact: you can actually see yours truly on the match footage. Highlights available below, or full game rewatch available directly on youtube through the official Women's FA Cup channel.

For all Bizet's excellence as a wide outlet, her desire to cut in so often did frustrate me compared to what was working for United. Leah Galton was already doing that on the left and personally, I like to play Football Manager and have my wide players do two different roles. Both cutting in... is fine if you're a more flat central midfield, but we had Grace Clinton ripping up the middle of the pitch in terrific fashion, Tooney floating around wide, forwards and back... we needed width and space.

Bizet came close to doubling United's lead, and would have been assisted by Galton in a nice reversal of the first goal, but it was captain Maya Le Tissier who scored goal number two; a lovely header off a very flat, low corner from Gabby George. MLT lost her marker, Natasha Fenton, and drifted perfectly into the path of the cross to head home at the near post.

The second half, with United comfortable, was a little less exciting viewing. Subs came in the form of Rachel Williams for Malard, Anna Sandberg for George, and Dominique Janssen for Turner, but this actually backfired and gave Sunderland an opportunity - and one they took.

Sub Ellen Jones claimed handball against Sandberg, but the advantage fell back to Sunderland, with Katy Watson up against Janssen. The Dutch international's positioning and pace was no match, and her unchallenged pass into the box was poorly blocked/tackled by Maya Le Tissier against Louise Griffiths, with the clash fizzing the ball into the United net and past the usually-impervious Phallon Tullis Joyce.

Galton and Sandberg did begin to click on the left wing, and a peach of a cross was headed goalwards by Rach Williams, only to be parried at Celin Bizet who flashed the rebound across goal.

Thankfully, there's Tooney.

Ella Toone, superstar, bagged the third and decisive United goal with a header of her own. Another stunning cross from Celin Bizet floated in perfectly, but again Fenton was the marker for Sunderland and again she lost her target. Her manager will be frustrated no doubt.

Manchester City await in the semi-final now, and then Chelsea or Liverpool in the final - so probably Chelsea. It's a tough fight to retain our trophy, and being honest, I have slim hopes, but it's moments like these that can galvanise a team and build a dynasty. Lets see if the girls have the mettle.

Next up in the league - Liverpool, at Anfield, at 7:15pm on Friday.

[faithinchances]

Hello hello! I’m just here to knock on your door because I saw your tags on the ‘Jamie’s post-s3 career path’ poll and I really enjoyed them! (And didn’t want to clog up the notes of someone else’s poll about it)

If you ever wanted to share more in detail about any of these options, I’d love to know more! I am also delighted by the concept of Jamie moving to Leverkusen and ending up under Xabi Alonso, but Barca and Liverpool also have my interest.

No rush or expectations on answering this whatsoever. Just if you ever do feel like sharing, I would love to hear more.

Hm. So Leverkeusen is the option I know the least about and Xabi Alonso is 100% of the reason I put that as an option; he started at Leverkeusen in 2022, which is also when s3 ends, which means they would arrive at the same time. Xabi himself is a midfield legend for Liverpool with a famously amazing first touch, and Jamie also has an amazing first touch.

I am very much hoping (delusionally) that Xabi will end up at Liverpool next year, I think that would be poetic and fun and he seems like a really good coach, but on the subject of Liverpool and coaches: Jurgen Klopp.

He's probably a bigger inspiration for Ted than Pep is.

Pep is a brilliant tactician, deeply passionate, absolutely nuts, always losing it on the sidelines, whereas Klopp at least once forced his team to celebrate losing a final, ie, forced them to celebrate getting to a final even if the result wasn't what they wanted. I just watched the TAA interview with Gary Neville, and he also apparently doesn't focus on winning or losing, just wants Liverpool to be the hardest team to beat because they work so hard. All very Ted.

Except that crucially, Klopp is ALSO a brilliant tactician (he's no Pep, but he's no slouch either), meaning that he's like Ted except competent, passionate, and outwardly caring (sorry Ted), thereby making him perfect for Jamie.

Liverpool also run a very high press that I think Jamie would enjoy, and being in Liverpool would get him closer to home (he could totally drive home for dinner, it's only about an hour) while still keeping some space, which I think he would appreciate. I can see Georgie being a little overbearing when Jamie's in a less needy mood. And, of course, Liverpool also typically make European competition and are regular title contenders.

Assuming he went there in 2022, he would also get a whole year under Jordan Henderson, who we can go ahead and consider being like Roy, except that he's less talented, a better captain, and actually from Sunderland (I've seen it hypothesized that Roy is a reskinned Hendo). And I want to know what would happen if he and Darwin were on the pitch together (Darwin was Liverpool's big signing that summer, realistically Jamie would replace him, but I don't care) (Darwin is notoriously chaotic, a striker with dubious talent in finishing, but also an extremely hard-worker and he takes more chances than most, so his low conversion rate is expected). Also I think Jamie would have a bit of a crush on VVD and that would be funny and cute.

The Barca route is also very fun, and not even because Messi (he had already left at this point). It's basically only possible if Jamie's Richmond contract was up at the end of s3, Barca could never afford our boy otherwise. I've heard it said that true fans of the sport of football will pick Barcelona to watch over any other team (provided theirs isn't playing), and Jamie is nothing if not a fan of football.

They were also at their height when Jamie was a young teenager, a time period when I think he would have had the most time to watch while having already developed an immense interest in it. He would have watched Messi, of course, but also Xavi, Iniesta, and Busquets, who made up a midfield dynasty that I know no comparison for. They are all technically gifted, and two of those last three were still at Barca for the 22/23 season. Xavi coached the team, and Busi was captain.

And then also at this time, Barca were bringing up a new crop of very exciting youngsters, most notably Gavi and Pedri. Jamie is a few years older than them, but I think it would be fun for him to be a role model for a couple of ludicrously talented barely-adults. He would not know what to do with himself.

I also think Jamie is maybe better suited for football abroad? Like he's very salt of the earth, "I work hard, yeah," but he also has this incredible swagger. How to use my limited knowledge to explain this. Spanish football culture seems to be less humble? More flamboyant? Like English football is full of a bunch of guys who are Just Some Dude. Harry Kane, Gary Neville, and in TL, also Roy. Jordan Henderson is PEAK some dude energy. Spanish football invented the term "Galactico" for its superstars.

I just think Jamie would love doing a little dance with his teammates after scoring.

[sweetrinaxd]

hi guys i have silent hill 5 au -

post-silent hill 2, James adopts Laura and they live together like a true family Mary dreamed of. 10 years later adult Laura (her full name is actually Laura Elizabeth H. Sunderland) switches with Alex Shepherd and coming to Shepherd's Glen to find her mother (in my au, Elle never existed and Laura is Margaret's only one daughter, so this explains why she have H-Holloway in her name...i dunno how she found out that Margaret is her mother dont blame me). do you remember scene when alex founds elle putting up missing fliers? In my au it's almost the same, but it's not Laura(Elle) who does it, but Alex, he putting up missing fliers about his brother, Joshua. Its just like canon, in my au he is also drowning. Laura accidentally meets Alex (she dont know him before, maybe some childhood memories, but she ended up in the hospital where she met Mary, so most likely she doesn’t remember him) and then she decided to help him find Joshua. They head to Silent Hill, and everything happens according to the canons, except that this is a story from Laura's view, so we dont see the death of Alex's parents. But she help him defeat the Amnion, the manifestation of Joshua's spirit and death, and then she kills Margaret. they're out of Silent Hill alive, and their paths diverge after returning to Shepherd's Glen. i think Laura will gave him her MySpace page (my headcanon, she would blog in it), so they can texting each other. Btw Laura is 18, Alex is 22