#we can help each other from here on out so! ill be relying on you until then hehe! and you can always rely on me too!

[aria0fgold]

Lil rambling bout how Alec was as a kid. One word, troublemaker. But, in a good way??? Like, he is also very precious, friendly, and kind that it cancels out how much of a troublemaker he can be until he does something to remind that: "Oh yeah this kid can be a headache sometimes."

During class he can be well behaved, can be, which is only sometimes. He's not the, I'm going to disrupt the class misbehaving type but it also lowkey disrupts the class anyway (He loves asking questions, at first his questions will be on topic but if you let him ask questions for too long it'll end up getting derailed.)

He's just a really curious and incredibly talkative kid. The moment Alec talks to you prepare listen for hours on several topics (cuz he jumps from topic to topic he can barely stay on track, he will try if you tell him but... dont count on it). Bubbly and cheerful too like, he's like a golden retriever combined with a samoyed.

At some point, Alec became their school's lil unofficial mascot cuz nearly everyone knows him. And it's a reputation split between "annoying" and "lovable." Also don't mistake his kindness as being really nice, he's kind, but he can be mean too if you're mean to him as well. (Which is not a good thing unless you're prepared to have an earful of angry ranting from a kid that won't shut up. he can practically insult you without using that many harsh words. also it may end up as a semi-rap he'll be talking so fast with barely any breaks in between).

Don't even try to get physical with him as well, he knows martial arts (if Ray's parents enrolled him in acting lessons, Alec's parents got him in martial arts training. In their defense, it can hopefully help spend some of Alec's seemingly unlimited supply of energy. And hey, Alec enjoys it too anyway!)

Basically, Alec is a very sporty kid! He loves doing physical activities a lot more than studying... You can see where that went for him (he only gets barely passing grades up until Ray started helping him out with it which thankfully improved that a bit!)

Ray on the other hand is like the complete opposite of Alec in that he's very shy, not at all good with groups and talking to practically everyone unless he's close to them. These two are a great combo where Alec helps Ray in terms of socializing and physical activities, while Ray helps Alec in terms of studies and keeping him in check (making sure he doesnt get into too much of a trouble).

[bethanydelleman]

Bingley was at fault too.....

Bingley's "modesty" is mostly just the result of Darcy's bad influence on him . Darcy said it himself; Bingley kept relying on him so much because it made life for him easier, he knows that he's impulsive and instead of dealing with his flaws, he just relies on Darcy to check him. He knew Jane loved him and the only effect that Jane acting like a lady should act is simply him not knowing how much she liked him, he knew love was there. And because Darcy thought she did not , he decided that she does not love him after all.

Both Darcy and Bingley are irresponsible; Darcy knew Bingley falls out of love all the time and yet he did not think that Jane might form a serious attachment because of his advances. He only cares about Bingley because it's HIS friend not out of a desire to help others.

Bingley hits on Jane immediately and courts her in front of everyone ; then left her after knowing everyone was expecting marriage ; if he wanted to leave, at least he shouldn't make it seem like he was running away from her, this might affect her reputation . I know he had planned to return but Darcy convinced not to; but he should at least claim an excuse that had nothing to do with Jane so he would not embarass her.

I disagree with most of what you are saying here. I don't think Bingley could have possibly been that confident or known that Jane loved him.

Elizabeth admits that Jane is hard to read and no one would have been entirely sure of her love:

He declared himself to have been totally unsuspicious of her sister’s attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte’s opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.

And also, Jane & Bingley don't spend a ton of time together in the two months that Bingley is at Netherfield. This is not modern dating:

“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”

I think you are greatly overestimating how well Bingley would understand Jane's heart. He can't ask if she likes him either, it's all about subtle encouragement. We don't know what Darcy and his sisters said to him, but I can see how someone would be persuaded that Jane didn't actually love him. I think modesty is one of Bingley's strengths, not a fault. And, he's also not as persuadable as people sometimes say, we see him stand up to both his sisters and Darcy.

Mrs. Bennet said that Jane was ill-used, but she doesn't suffer any reputation damage. Mrs. Gardiner basically says, "These things happen" and moves on. We have no evidence at all that it hurt Jane in any way except emotionally. Also, Bingley & Jane don't act like Marianne & Willoughby or Wentworth & Louisa, we do not hear that everyone who saw them expected an engagement. It did not go that far. It was a fervent hope, not an honour-bound expectation. It was also a lot of Mrs. Bennet telling everyone that it would happen.

Darcy was wrong, but after the Bennets' display of vulgarity at the ball, he thought he was doing the right thing for his friend. Was he biased? Yes, the narrator tells us so, but that doesn't mean he was irresponsible. If Bingley hadn't been truly in love, he would have been doing the right thing.

That said, both Bingley and Darcy do have flaws, but Bingley is young and being impulsive when you're 23 and filthy rich isn't that bad. Darcy protecting his friend isn't a flaw, though his reasoning wasn't without bias. And I'm sure he does often have a good influence on Bingley.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Would you please do a stepbro! Tommy smut with a piss kink? Maybe he makes reader hold it?

Summary: Your step brother finds you out stumbling drunk, there’s only one thing that must be done for you to learn.

warnings: watersports, piss kink, dom/sub dynamics, p in v, mentions of intoxication, humiliation, degradation, stepcest

Everyone knew Tommy was close with you, always around one another, joking around, sometimes playing games that step siblings shouldn’t be playing. 

You hadn’t been home since breakfast and though you were well old enough not to have a curfew, Tommy still demanded to know where you were, who you were with and that you’d be home before dark.

Yet here he was driving down the street in the piss pouring rain looking for his step sister whom he may or may not have a sick, twisted, far too loving relationship with.

Stumbling off through the dark alley giggling with your friends, a car pulled up by the sidewalk that you knew all too well to be your step brother Tommy.

Bidding you goodbye, your friends scattered off, frightened of him, while the brick wall you were now leaning against was the only thing keeping you up on your feet.

Tommy stepped out of the car the rain pouring down onto his head as he slammed the door shut in anger, walking toward you with vigours, thunderous steps.

“I’ve been looking for you all night, and you’ve been out getting drunk at me fooking pub?” Making a sly goofy smile, Tommy rolled his eyes shoving you in the car before driving off back to the house.

The liqour was creating a sense of sexual urgency, and need to be fucked. Yet unlike all other days Tommy disregarded your longing stares and seductive touches, instead leading you into his office, forcing you down on a chair demanding you not move.

“Since you love drinking so much, why don’t we see just how much you can withstand.” Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, Tommy returned, his heated gaze never swaying from your hazy eyes.

“Drink up, love.” He eyed you from the opposite side of his desk, pushing the tremendously full glass of water toward you.

Eyeing him nervously, you did as he said, allowing the cool liquid to drench your dry throat, relinquishing the headache almost immediately.

His ocean eyes impended directly on you, focusing on the discomfort you attempted to hide.

“You will hold it until I say so.” Whimpering, he stood from his chair, massaging your shoulders, his plush lips dusting against your ear.

“Maybe you’ll learn your lesson next time, eh love?”

You just hadn’t realized how far Tommy would go for a punishment.

Throughout the day he consistently ignored your begging to use the restroom. Instead refilling the glass with each complaint you gave him.

It wasn’t until five glasses in that you realized he wasn’t just messing around, he wanted to see you suffer immensely.

When Ada arrived home, she has voiced concern that you might be ill. Playing it off, you mentioned that your sleep cycle had been inconsistent, relying on the blatant lie of being drowsy and irritable while Tommy simply smirked in the corner, attempting not to laugh as he sipped his tea.

“Well, perhaps a movie will help you sleep.” Nodding, Ada removed her coat, recalling that history movies were a dull interest to you, and ran outside to get the post to see what would be playing on the television tonight.

Once she was out of sight, Tommy abruptly appeared behind your back, purposefully pulling you back against him, arms squeezing tightly around your lower abdomen.

Whining, your head fell back against his chest as his hand glided beneath your skirt, rubbing your aching heat.

This wasn’t fair, he didn’t hold Ada to these standards even though she was older. She’s never had a “curfew”, why should you be any different?

“How’s my little lamb holding in there? Gonna piss yourself right here in the kitchen?” The water slowly dripping from the sink faucet has your eyes drawn in as Tommy continued to massage your mound, the rain pattering against the window outside.

The dripping sounds and the stimulation, causing your mind to spin in a million different directions.

“Such a sensitive little thing aren’t you? Just imagining the moment of releasing the flood gates, draining yourself, completely?” Tugging away from him once the door opened, Ada motioned that your brothers and Aunt Pol wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but the good news was she had found a movie, only it was three hours.

After eating dinner, the living area was set up with blankets and pillows along with simple snacks.

You were currently seated in the middle of the sofa, Tommy beside you of course while Ada was in the recliner to the side.

As a obnoxiously loud scene came on, you took the time to address your brother.

“Tommy, please! I’m going to burst at the seams!” You pleaded, and begged to him, wishing to just dispel the extreme un comfort of your bladder holding the max capacity of piss. 

He simply chuckled, shaking his head in disapproval, enjoying how desperate you sounded.

Your eyebrows creased together when his hand guided toward your lower abdomen underneath the blanket, pressing firmly onto the bloated, hardened skin, causing you to squeam in slight pain and discomfort of his actions.

Glancing around the room, Ada was still awake fully indulged in the movie.

Shit, you were going to have to play normal for longer than you already have.

Shivering Ada stood up from her seat, complaining of how cold it was in the house even with the fire lit.

When she mentioned hot chocolate, Tommy’s eyes lit up with mischief and pure diabolical intentions.

“Y��know Y/N was just complaining of the same thing, do you mind making us one too?” 

Oh how you wanted to smack him in the back of his demented head, and rush to the toilet.

Every other minute Tommy was shifting, in his seat. How long was this movie? You wouldn’t be surprised had he picked on nearly three hours. But you could play this game better.

As the film continued on about an hour later Tommy’s eyes were becoming heavy, his slight minuscule snores just barely audible.

Taking the opportunity at large, you were careful standing up from the sofa, hesitant not to wake him before walking off toward the upstairs bathroom. Only thing was this was an old house with creaking floors. The night time shade made it hard to see where you were stepping, and then it happened.

The first creak and Tommy was awakened, turning his head to catch you red handed.

Glancing over, Ada was asleep and luckly for him she was a heavy sleeper.

Terror seeped over your eyes as Tommy stood from the catch, walking over and grabbing your arm, forcing you to his room.

“Did you think I wouldn’t hear?” Barging through the door, you shed one another of your clothes, eventually, falling down onto the mattress. Tommy towered over your aching body, noticing how bloaded your bladder appeared, and how hard your nipples were even in the warm air.

You couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment from the fact that being degraded and controlled in such a way turned you on.

Pressing firmly down onto your skin, he smirked watching you squeal and squirm beneath him in desperation, while his hardened cock slid in an up and down motion between your moist folds.

“Tommy I- I can’t. Please let me go first!” He shook his head, plunging his length in your heated flower. The over filling sensation, causing extreme discomfort with a hint of pleasure.

“Maybe you should learn to listen to your big brother every now and then eh?” Your lips parted agape when he began to drill into your body, the head of his cock feeling like it was hitting your bladder with each thrust.

Surely he didn’t expect you to hold your piss through this.

“I-I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be home on time from now on.” His hands grasped at your boobs, feeling them bounce with each rhythmic thrust.

It was almost pathetic how soaked you were, how your pussy clung to his long length in desperation.

When he flipped you over onto your stomach, that was when the inevitable was about to happen.

“Tommy-Tommy I’m gonna- I can’t-“

“You can release now love.” As soon as he gave you permission, all of the piss inside your aching bladder pooled out onto the sheets around his cock. The relieving sensation was almost too satisfying to recognize the humiliating situation that didn’t seem to phase Tommy at all as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. The piss warming his cock like a popsicle melting from the hot sun on a warm summer day.

The white sheets now stained yellow beneath your sex, your cheeks burning red in embarrassment.

It wasn’t long until Tommy released his seed inside of your dripping hole, the overwhelming heat of your pussy and piss sending a tidal wave of pleasure through his veins as his toes curled with one last strong, powerful thrust as he rode out his orgasm.

“So tell me? Did you learn something useful today?”

[autistic-danvers]

Since my blog has become one long mutual aid request the last month or so, I thought I’d go into a little more detail about my situation this time around.

I lost my disability at the beginning of the year and am unable to work bc of chronic illness and a host of mental issues on top, so my wife and I have been relying on her income while I work with a lawyer and all my doctors to try and get it reinstated.

That alone was more than enough to knock us totally off stable ground but on top of it, also at the start of the year I had a family medical crisis that has caused me to have to come back to my hometown and take care of my father for at least the next 6 months and now, not only are we down to one income but we have bills in two separate states along with trying to be able to see each other every once in a while.

My wife’s family has been helping us where they can but they’re also not very well off, and on my side the only family I have is my father who cannot help in any meaningful way either.

I guess this is just one of those things where one disaster after another keeps hitting and I’m struggling to just keep my head above water. Almost 10 years on this site without ever engaging with calls for mutual aid and now I seem to need it constantly; as much as I know it shouldn’t, it feels very humiliating to keep begging for help from people but I’m at a loss for what else to do.

Rent is coming up soon along with trying to get groceries, my phone bill, and utilities taken care of, so I’m going to once again post my PayPal here and pin it to my page, along with my heartfelt gratitude to every person who has helped me recently even just by reblogging my posts. If you have even a couple dollars you could spare to help me reach my goal of $500 for the rest of march and april, you’d certainly be helping me survive.

446$ out of 500$ ❤️

[tcookies777]

Where I am now

Many of you have left such kind comments and sent me messages out of concern for my wellbeing. For that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I also appreciate your patience as I understand it can be difficult to wait months for a chapter update on a long, tedious fic such as The Anatomy of Love. Your patience for this story is always sincerely appreciated.

I've been struggling for months to find the right words to say. To decide whether to express the ache in my heart or draw lines and stay silent. But while a part of me wishes to say little to nothing on the matter out of a sense of shame, the better part of me recognizes that conversations like the one I'm about to raise are something that needs to be discussed more. If only to raise awareness of the topic or help destigmatize it. If only to normalize issues like these. If only to just help someone else who might be going through a dark period in their life as well.

It's here that I'll give a final warning of the sensitive topics of this post. So feel free to turn away now if the topic of mental illness might be upsetting.

Trigger warning: suicide and mental illness

Ok, so here goes....

My sister committed suicide. I won't go into details of course, but it was not peaceful or quiet - it was violent, gruesome, and excruciatingly painful. So much so that the police thought it might've been a murder and harshly investigated us, making everything more difficult and traumatizing than it already was.

She had battled with depression for nearly 2 decades, deteriorating far beyond recognition. We had grown estranged over the years of my childhood because she pushed loved ones away, blaming them for the way she turned out but also still relying on them to survive. An awful cycle of codependency.

I myself have been battling with high-functioning depression for the past decade, which is one reason why I struggle to respond to people's messages. From readers, friends, and family alike. I, too, have an issue of pushing people away. Because I'm ashamed for them to see how broken my life is. Because I have seen the way people judge you for having a mental illness. I have witnessed friends, family, and even Healthcare workers gaze upon the mentally ill as if they are a sore sight.

To be honest, I understand both sides; it can also be frustrating to pool all your time, effort and resources into trying to help someone who does not want to be helped. It burns you out. That despite your efforts to fight for that person, they do not fight for themselves and you're forced to watch them deteriorate in a slow, agonizing process.

"At the beginning, you’ll do your best to shoulder all my burdens. At the beginning, you’ll be strong about it. But over time, you’ll come to regret it—you'll come to regret me, and the burden that I have become to you." — Kakashi, Chapter 30 of The Anatomy of Love

On the other side, it's hard to take that step to accept the help offered to you. It's hard to find the strength to meet your loved ones halfway and help them to help you when you hardly have the strength to even get out of bed. Yet, you also feel guilty because it feels as if you are just dragging down those around you.

These are the feelings Kakashi expresses to Sakura in Chapter 30, when he tries to explain the reasons why they cannot and should not pursue a relationship. Guilt and self-loathing are the feelings that have been eating me up inside for years, as they ate at my sister as well.

We were born from a loveless, violent marriage. So we didn't know how to love each other, though we did whether we wanted to or not. Likely it was the trauma that bonded us. But put together, my sister and I were oil and water. Loving someone who is your family but is practically a stranger to you is incredibly difficult and taxing.

Yet, I understood completely. You just don't know how to show love to someone when you were never given love.

But despite my estrangement from my sister, I still love her. Being a 1st generation American often means you have nothing but your family. When you have no house, no savings, no relatives to turn to - just your immediate family - it can be a toxic, tough love where you have only that person whether you like them or not. And in Asian culture, family is especially everything even when it's completely dysfunctional.

So why am I updating TAOL now?

It's mostly for myself. Because it's my own comfort fic that allows me to engage in therapeutic writing. It's a story of loneliness and love of all forms (romantic, sexual, familial, etc). More importantly, it's a story about finding family, finding love, and finding home. Something that I've yearned for all my life.

And it's a story of pursuing happiness even when you think you don't deserve it. It's a story that shows good coping mechanisms and bad coping mechanisms and their consequences. It's a story of picking yourself up by the bootstraps even when you just want to sit and wallow in despair. And it's also a story of embracing the love of those around you and taking their hands when they reach out to you and offer their support.

At its core, The Anatomy of Love is a story about fighting loneliness, self-hatred, guilt, and mental illness with love. With the love of friends and family. And with the love for yourself. Because while it's important to have a strong support system to love and look out for you, it is just as important to love yourself and really put in the effort to take care of yourself. And sometimes that means being ""selfish"" and prioritizing yourself over others.

Why am I saying all this?

I'll admit, I'm uncomfortable revealing the skeletons in my closet to strangers online where everyone can judge and share my secrets. I'm embarrassed to admit that TAOL's themes are projections of my own desires, and for people to know that I write about such things in fanfic because of the fact that I don't have them. But I'm just too insecure to talk to anyone 1 on 1. Not to mention that, unfortunately, it's not that simple to just go to therapy (especially when the healthcare system is broke here).

Most importantly, I hope that if there's anyone out there reading this and going through a shitty point in their lives as well... I hope you are able to take comfort in the fact that you are not alone in this. We individually have our own demons to fight, but we're all fighting the same battle.

I wish I could say it gets better, but there's honestly no guarantee. So many times, I've had to stop myself from telling patients "things'll get better" because that's a promise that we're taught never to make. The truth is no one knows if things really do get better. Personally, I haven't been feeling better at all. For most of my life, people have been telling me it gets better and to just be patient, but every year it actually gets worse and worse. And just when you think things are starting to look up, it instead gets even more worse.

It's tiresome waiting years for things to get better when it seems it's nowhere in sight.

But I'm trying my best to take it day by day. I do my best to get out of bed, go to work, take a proper shower, feed myself. I do my best to love myself - mostly out of fear that what little family I have will one day disappear and I will have no one left to love me. No one but myself.

But sometimes my best does not feel enough. Sometimes I hate myself more days than others.

That's okay, I tell myself. I hate myself today, but I will love myself tomorrow. I will forgive myself eventually. I can be happy eventually. One day at a time.

Because on my better days, I realize that not every person can afford to wait for things to get better. You have to be the one to take the initiative - get off your ass and take that step forward and make things better yourself. All the people around you can offer you all the help that you need, but the most important thing is that YOU have to want to help yourself.

So that's all I am able to say for now. I do apologize if my thoughts are a bit discombobulated. I am still struggling to find my feet when it feels like I'm still drowning under pounding waves of darkness. If you've read this far, I appreciate you taking the time to read this.

Meanwhile, I hope you guys can continue to enjoy reading The Anatomy of Love. The chapter is not entirely to my satisfaction due to the last minute revisions I made, but I wanted a sprinkle of happiness in the moment. I think that's something we all need.

Also, thank you for the messages you have sent me and the comments you left. I'm truly sorry I do not have the courage or strength to respond, but please know I am forever grateful and touched that people would reach out to a stranger like me.

Hope to see you soon,

TCOOKIES

[laurfilijames]

Like My Dreams

Part 4

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Nudity. Fingering. Hand job. Cum play. Oral sex (M and F receiving). Squirting.

Summary: Things continue to progress between you and Pete, indulging in the slow buildup and all the fun that comes before sex, falling deeper in love with each other as each day passes.

A/N: I am so addicted to writing all these sweet moments between them that gives glimpses of how they are falling in love. There is so much more to come for this story and I am still so excited to share it!

*reader is not described other than having hair despite the photo used in the moodboard. And yes that's Jay and not Pete but LOOK AT HIM. It is so Pete coded I had to.

Intro Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pete Dunham Masterlist

---

You had to pull your phone away from your ear the moment the call picked up, the volume of Fiona shouting at you and going on about how worried she was too loud to keep it close, her annoyance at you not having answered her numerous calls not allowed to go unnoticed.

“Nothing happened!” you stressed, your grin splitting your face as you trotted down the sidewalk, listening to her accuse you of being too blissfully fucked out to communicate with your best friend and flatmate.

“Oh, my ass!”

“We kissed. All night.”

“Sure you did…”

“And talked…” you trailed off as you recalled every word and kiss shared, remembering each moment as if it had happened a hundred times over, his lips and voice ingrained in your memory forever. “Fi, I swear this can’t be real.”

“I can hear your grin through the phone. It’s making me ill,” she scoffed, but you could tell without seeing her face that it was in a lovingly teasing way. “And it’s real, so enjoy it, babes, you deserve it.”

Your smile grew even more as you made your way down the steps into the underground, not caring that strangers were noticing your blatant joy and staring at you as they passed.

“Put the kettle on, I’m on my way home.”

The lack of a vehicle was beginning to throw more of a wrench in your daily routine than you could have imaged, the difficulty of getting yourself to and from work let alone Jack to school and back turning into many inconvenient favours owed to Fiona and even Swill, and with neither one of them available to help today, you were relying on your very own knight in shining armour.

You yawned, your day having started earlier than you would’ve liked due to having to take the tube to your sister’s from Fiona’s in order to get there just as she was rushing out the door to work, praying you would get another coffee in your system soon.

“He’s here, Jack! Get a move on!” you called up the stairs, grabbing your purse and Jack’s cleats as he bounded down excitedly while sliding his arms through the straps of his backpack.

“Morning, Mr. Dunham!” Jack bellowed, practically skipping to Pete’s car as you locked the door to your sister's place.

“Morning, mate,” Pete greeted, his smile beaming as he stood in the open door of his car. He ruffled Jack’s hair as he flew past him and scooted into the backseat, tossing his things in unceremoniously as if getting into his teacher’s car was the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Pete winked at you over the roof of his perfectly maintained, claret red Volkswagen, his hands tapping on it enthusiastically as his cheeks stretched even more on his face at seeing your own beautiful grin dress yours.

“Right,” he started, shutting his door after sitting back down in the driver’s seat. “Seatbelts on.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jack, then at you, his expression somewhat stern.

You looked at Jack to make sure he was doing as instructed as you fastened your own, giggling when Pete gave a pleased nod and leaned across the console to get close to you.

“You’re precious cargo,” he murmured, kissing you quickly, laughing as he pulled away when Jack began complaining about it.

For the first morning ever, you didn’t mind the commute from your sister’s house to your office, content with spending time with Pete before your workday, getting to admire him as he focused on driving while you sat comfortably in the passenger seat.

He sang pretty much the entire time, listening to a mixed CD he had burned, and it surprised and warmed your heart to see your nephew singing along to what words he knew, remembering Jack telling you how Pete often played music during class while they were working.

Stopping at a red light, Pete took your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it as many times as he could before the light turned again, checking in his rearview mirror to see Jack looking out the window smiling.

“How uncool do you reckon it is to show up at school with your teacher?” Pete asked, his question serious even though it initially made you laugh, seeing his brows knitted together as he stroked his thumb over his lower lip.

You looked back at Jack who was still in his glory, nodding his head along to “Supersonic” by Oasis, and then back at Pete, recognizing just how important his reputation and influence was not only to his firm and all the others in England, but also to his students.

You reached for his hand, rubbing your thumb across it before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I think it’s different when your teacher is your idol.”

Pete couldn’t hide his smile even though he tried, licking his lips as he concentrated on the road again, his happiness making you wish the repairs on your car took longer than anticipated so you could do this for many mornings to come.

“Fucking hell,” Pete panted, his head knocking against the wall as you trailed your mouth down his neck, your hands slipping under his jumper to feel his abdomen expand and contract wildly under your touch, the desperation to have each other growing each time you were alone.

You had just returned to his flat after going out for a meal with Dave and Clair, unable to keep your hands to yourselves even in their company, the feel of Pete’s hand resting on your thigh all night in a confidently claiming way driving you insane.

It had been a mutual decision to take things slowly, carefully and progressively building up to the inevitable, the anticipation adding to the excitement of it all and making every moment with Pete feel that much more special.

It had been two days since your sleepover, the brief time spent together since without being able to be physical making you curious to know where things were going to take you now, but the way he had been kissing you in the back of the taxi told you he wasn’t going to ever leave you unsatisfied.

Your lips found his again after assaulting his neck and chest until it was made red from your attention, his blush spreading up onto his cheeks as he became more worked up, sweat starting to appear on his skin that allowed your hands to glide easily along it.

He pulled your lip with his teeth out of restraint as you ran your palm over the bulge in his jeans, stroking him through the material until his cock was pressing against it almost painfully, your fervor increasing as you appreciated his size.

Jackets were torn off and left abandoned on the floor wherever they fell, your shirt, and then his, following suit as you blindly stumbled away from the door and into the living room, Pete laughing as he crashed into his foosball table.

“Sorry!” you giggled, the words you were going to use to ask if he was okay dying before they had the chance to pass your lips, feeling numb from the way Pete was looking at you, his crooked smile and hands clasping your face as he leaned in to kiss you again making you forget about anything else.

He pulled you along with him into his bedroom, not stopping in kissing you even when you both frantically worked to unfasten each other’s pants, only breaking when you had to rush to kick them off your feet and catch your breath.

Pete smiled and took a sharp inhale, taking a second to admire you in your bra and panties, watching your eyes cloud over with lust as you admired him in his burgundy boxers that were no longer leaving much to the imagination.

He closed the space between you and crashed against your lips again, his hands holding your neck and jawline to increase the depth of his tongue in your mouth, moaning when he felt your fingers hook in the waistband of his boxers and edge them down his legs.

Your own moans of approval rang out when you felt his cock spring free, your hand catching it and stroking his length base to tip, your thumb smoothing over his head.

Shivers rushed down your spine as Pete unhooked your bra and peeled it off of you, the sensation of his fingers and the lace delicately slipping along your arms and chest making you ache, your heart pounding when he pulled you closer to him so you were pressed together.

His lips traveled from yours and down your neck, peppering along your shoulder as he breathed you in, your head tipping back at how incredible something so simple felt.

Continuing his worship of you, he kissed down your upper arm and across your chest, sitting on the bed as he did, allowing for a better height for his mouth to line up to your breasts.

Forced to release his cock from your hold, you stood between his legs with the help of his guidance, whining as your nails dug into the flesh on his upper back when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, flicking and sucking it until it hardened to his attention.

“Pete…” you breathed, both a praise and plea.

He didn’t stop, repeating the same on your other breast, his hands gently slipping down your waist until they caught on the lace of your panties and slowly peeled them down your hips and thighs until they pooled on the floor.

Once you were naked, he wrapped his arm around your legs and bum and tugged you forward, forcing you onto the bed with him where you landed wrapped together in his unmade sheets, his smile bright as he shifted and looked at you lovingly. He ran his hand over your hair, dipping his face down so his smile met the one you returned to him, your hands squeezing his body as you held him close to you.

You smiled as you reached up to trace his lips, his soft laugh making your heart soar as he placed his forehead against yours and nudged your nose back and forth, both of your smiles fading as the weight of this moment settled in.

Pete’s hand slowly trailed down your side and onto your hip, scooping your thigh to sling it over his waist, your breath pausing in your lungs as you waited for him to touch you, his fingers carefully gliding between your bodies until he landed home.

You gasped, releasing the air you had been holding in, the sensation of him swiping through your slick folds before pushing his middle and index finger inside you making you moan and grip his shoulder without regard to how your nails were leaving half-moon indentations in his skin.

The groan that tumbled from his parted lips in appreciation of how wet you were for him made your arousal increase even more, unable to help yourself from grinding your hips against his hand for more friction where you needed it most.

“Fuck,” he swore as he exhaled, hooking his fingers to massage you as if he knew the very spot that would make your legs tremble, and while you indulged in his generosity of pleasuring you, it was impossible to forget about him, taking your hand and wrapping it around his cock again.

Spreading the precum that was leaking heavily from the tip, you stroked him up and down, feeling every vein pulse as his shaft flexed and twitched to your touch, his hips bucking forward slightly, causing him to work you with more fervor.

A breathy moan passed his lips before he brought them to yours, gently and almost to test it out as if he hadn’t kissed you a thousand times already, meeting your lips more confidently when you reciprocated eagerly.

You never stopped once, exchanging breaths and slow kisses the entire time your hands explored each other, the addicting sensation of Pete’s long fingers moving in and out of you expertly while his thumb circled your clit keeping you on the brink and ready to fall when he allowed for it.

“Are you gonna come for me, beautiful?” he uttered, his voice thick with lust, his eyes heavy-lidded when he parted from you enough to look at your swollen lips and the way you squirmed beside him.

“Fuck, Pete…” you whined, gyrating against his hand, prompting him to amp up his already-perfect efforts.

“That’s it, darling,” he groaned, his mouth hovering against yours as he felt you tighten around his fingers.

You somehow managed to continue pumping his cock even through the build-up of your climax, desperate to drag him along with you and to experience what you hoped would be the first of many simultaneous orgasms, but Pete had a determination that was unmatched.

He alternated between hitting your g-spot and rubbing your tingling clit, massaging both precisely, causing you to inadvertently halt your movements on him as your climax ripped through you violently.

“Good girl, fuck…” he hissed, watching you fall apart under his touch, your body so beautifully reacting to the pleasure he provided, the noises spilling from your lips sounding better than he could have imagined.

Stilling his fingers but not removing them from you, he kissed you until he felt your walls release the grip you had on them, growling into your mouth in discovering how much your creamy slick had coated his hand.

You wrapped the hand that wasn’t holding his throbbing cock around the back of his neck and pulled him closer to you, kissing him hard to show your gratitude as you resumed jerking him off.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his brow furrowed as he took his hand that was between your legs and gripped his cock with it, spreading your juices on himself, more curses coming out of his mouth as he did. Somewhat forcefully, he grabbed your hand and placed it back around him, guiding your pace for a moment before sliding his fingers between your legs again, swiping through your soaked and sensitive folds back and forth until your cries encouraged him to drive them inside your aching hole.

You kept the tempo he had set, not faltering even when occasionally adding a pass of your thumb over his head, feeling him begin to lose control with each second. His free hand moved to cup your face, the gold of his ring cold against your burning cheek, his tongue rolling with yours vigorously as he ground his body against yours.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound guttural and primal, his lips breaking from yours briefly as he came harshly, his hot spend shooting out onto your lower belly and core where he didn’t let up on his ministrations.

His breathing was sharp and heaving, and you didn’t notice yours turning to be the same, focused on the feeling of his thumb smearing his cum over your clit that threw you into another shattering high.

He let you ride out your second climax, relishing in every blissful aftershock of it, your breaths gradually slowing together as your kisses became lazier and less hurried. Pete smiled against your lips as he gradually pulled away, his eyes bright and full of joy and promise of more.

“I’ll go get a towel, yeah?” he spoke softly and winked, looking at the mess he had made on your bodies, but thinking how fucking good you looked covered in his cum.

Pete tossed the soiled towel down on the floor and sighed as he lay back on his pillow, lifting his arm for you to slip underneath it, your head laying on his chest like you were made to fit in the space against his side.

Your fingers danced on his skin, tracing his West Ham crest adoringly, the happiness buzzing through you unlike anything else you had felt before.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice sounding tired and comfortably sleepy when he spoke.

“Are you going to stay the night?”

You beamed, relieved he couldn’t see your grin from his angle.

“I was considering it…”

Pete chuckled as he rolled over to cage you under his body, smiling down at you while giving you a playful look, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“You’re dreaming if you think I’m letting you leave.”

What felt like an explosion of nerves burst in your stomach the closer you came to Steve and Shannon’s home, and you found yourself appreciating the decent walk from Bank Station in the brisk evening air, filling your lungs with it with each breath to try to calm yourself.

Like he sensed your unease, Pete squeezed your hand that he held in his, glancing over at you as he walked with his usual certainty.

“They’re gonna love you,” he reassured, his smile making you believe him a little bit. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” you hummed, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued taking strides together, smiling and returning his consolation by squeezing his hand back.

After a few more minutes of walking and being distracted by one of Pete’s insane fighting stories, he slowed and turned to lead you up the steps to the porch of a posh townhome, feeling yourself straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath as he hit the doorbell, the wink and smile he shot in your direction helping you steel yourself.

“Hi, bruv,” Pete greeted excitedly when Steve answered the door, walking through it when he stepped out of the way for you both to enter.

He introduced you with pride to Steve and Shannon, and as soon as the formalities were out of the way and Steve had taken your coats, you felt any unease about meeting them completely vanish.

“What’s this?” Steve asked when Pete handed him a bag before seeing himself through to the kitchen.

Pete scoffed, speaking over his shoulder, “Wine, a baguette, dessert…” he listed, like he was offended Steve was asking.

The look Steve gave him made you smirk, confusion written all over his face.

“Pete, when have you ever brought anything?”

“Bollocks!” Pete responded, his grin revealing the truth behind his brother’s accusation, giving you a look like you shouldn’t believe it as he opened the refrigerator door and helped himself to a beer.

“I see you’re already having a positive effect on him,” Steve said to you. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of wine would be great, thank you,” you smiled, already finding the relationship between the two Dunham brother’s endearing and ultimately entertaining.

Pete was on cloud nine, smiling to himself as he went into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates, hearing your infectious laugh sound through from the dining room, having hit it off with his brother and sister-in-law effortlessly.

He wanted to show you off to everyone he knew, so proud to be with someone as beautiful and incredible as you, and he knew his mum would love you to pieces when he eventually was able to introduce you to her as well.

“That’s going well then, is it?” Steve asked, coming in and grabbing another bottle of wine from the rack beside the fridge.

“Yeah, it is,” Pete nodded, half expecting a negative comment or some sort of warning to come out of Steve’s mouth next, bracing for it as he retrieved dessert plates out of the cupboard.

“She’s really great, Pete. You suit each other.”

Pete turned to look at him, his eyebrows hooked high in shock, and he became even more surprised to see the genuine expression on his brother’s face when he did.

“I mean it, you know,” Steve stressed, seeing Pete’s doubt. “I’m really pleased for ya, mate, so is Shan. It’s nice seeing you happy.”

“I was happy before,” Pete countered, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, not questioning that they adored you but rather that Steve was about to lecture him on something about life meaning more than how he had lived it up until now and suggesting for him to leave the firm and fighting behind.

“Yeah, but this is different, innit?”

Pete nodded as he glanced over at his brother again, smiling when he saw his honesty hadn’t faded.

Steve stepped forward and embraced Pete, a hug something that was very seldom shared between them, but Pete welcomed it gladly, patting Steve’s back aggressively and lifting him up slightly, making Steve curse and groan.

“Thanks, ya old geezer,” Pete laughed, refocusing on his task of setting out dessert while Steve uncorked the bottle of red, both brothers smiling out of appreciation and gratitude for how life was turning out after everything they had been through.

It was hard to peel your eyes away from him despite the pleasure he was providing you feeling so divine it was nearly impossible to keep them from closing, the half of his face that wasn’t currently obstructed looking heavenly as he indulged between your legs.

His brows were knitted together, his focus and pride in his work written out on his expression as he ate at you appreciatively, the way his hands dug into the flesh on your hips yet another signal of his enthusiasm in being able to taste you.

Your fingers carded languidly through his short hair, it feeling velvety against the inside of your trembling hand before his tongue hit that perfect spot he kept finding and teasing and made you grip his scalp with a plea for mercy, your hips lifting off the bed as your cries filled the air.

Pete was more than generous when it came to pleasuring you, having already made you come twice on his tongue and fingers that didn’t leave the intoxicating comforts at the apex of your thighs, his drive to coax another orgasm out of you something to be awarded.

His moans told you all you needed to know about how much he loved tasting you, although he was sure to utter the words between licking and eating up all you had to offer, his praise making you soar and feel like a goddess even though you were simply laying there and doing nothing but being spoiled.

You smiled, feeling yourself grow more deranged from ecstasy as you neared another climax, unable to believe how lucky you were to find a man who clearly loved the act of performing oral more than you had ever experienced, his talent and passion for it evident in each swipe and suck, your pleasure the only priority.

“Pete!” you wailed, trembling on the mattress as he drove his fingers in and out in the way he learned drove you insane, his lips sucking on your clit to make you reach your high once more.

It felt different, more intense than all the orgasms he’d given you already, a pressure coiling tightly at the base of your spine, your whole body tensing.

“Relax, love,” he encouraged, pausing only long enough to say the words before returning to his position, his fingertips brushing your g-spot a few more times before withdrawing them completely from you, his tongue flicking your clit to finish the job.

You screamed, your body convulsing as a rush of wet exploded from you, soaking his face that he kept buried in your cunt as he drank up all he lured out of you.

“Holy shit, Pete,” you panted, your chest heaving wildly as you fought to catch your breath and comprehend what just happened, every part of you tingling and alight from such an intense pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of experiencing.

Pete hummed against you, shifting slightly as he moved his lips from your over-sensitive folds onto your thigh, his eyes full of lust as he glanced up at you.

Licking his lips, he sat up on the bed, a deep breath filling his lungs as he tried to keep control of himself, his voice deep and gravelly when he spoke.

“I fucking knew you were going to taste that good.”

His continued praise left you breathless, and although you barely had any strength left in your limbs, you propped yourself up on your elbows and met him in a kiss that tasted of your tangy essence.

One of your hands pressed gently on his chest to encourage him to stand while your other found his cock that strained with a need for your attention that you were so desperate to give it, moving off the bed with him as you slowly rubbed his length.

You reluctantly broke your kiss as you sank to your knees in front of him, keeping eye contact as you did, your hand remaining on his cock as the other slid down his defined abs to his toned thigh. His muscles trembled when you pressed your lips on his groin, then a little further down on his leg, your nose brushing along his heated skin that smelled so incredible it made your mouth water.

You swallowed thickly, bringing your lips to his leaking tip, smoothing it across them before parting them enough to invite him into your mouth, still managing to hold his stare as you did.

“Fuck, babe,” he hissed, his eyes clouding with a hazy ecstasy.

Moaning as you took him fully in the heat of your mouth, you relished in his taste and smell, your nose landing in the wheat-coloured hairs at the base of his cock that held that musky scent you were now addicted to.

Your hand clawed into his quad as you brought your head as close to his body as you could, his cock slamming into the back of your throat as a result, a shiver running through you to make your nipples harden and you to shift your knees on the floor to spread your legs apart.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered, your eyes closing as you relished in his praise, his words encouraging you to make him feel as good as he had made you.

You gave him all you had, sucking and swirling your tongue around from base to tip over and over, bobbing on and off of his size that made you gag, but you never let up, hearing his groans and curses falling from his parted lips that made you even more eager to taste his load.

Gently, you cupped his sack, massaging it at the same time you moved him in and out of your mouth vigorously, feeling him tense and throb to your efforts.

Glancing up to check his expression to be sure everything you were doing was feeling as mind-blowing as you hoped, you carefully rubbed your knuckles against the spot behind his balls, increasing the pressure when you saw his mouth slacken and his eyelids shut.

“That’s it, fuck!”

His hips began to match your tempo, his hand carefully landing on the back of your head to remind you what he could do if you dared to stop, his subtle demand for you to keep on exactly how you were making your own arousal leak from you and drip onto the floor.

Pete stopped moving, instead digging his fingers into your scalp, his breathy grunts and moans signaling his end that made you work with even more enthusiasm until you felt him pulse into your mouth in powerful spurts.

You moaned appreciatively as you swallowed his thick, hot cum, still swirling your tongue around his girth until a shaky laugh rang out above you.

“Fuck me,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you release him from your mouth with a pop as you sucked off the last bits seeping from his tip.

Pete held out his hand to help you up, nodding at the bed behind you, a mischievous look dressing his flushed face.

“Sit.”

It was exhilarating, wondering what he was planning now, trusting him completely while also indulging in the curious excitement mixing with nervousness that the look in his eyes gave you, and obediently, you did as you were told.

Pete kneeled between your legs, smiling proudly as he guided your feet to rest on the edge of the mattress, spreading you open wide for him to access all of your fresh slick that had accumulated in your folds.

“I’m not nearly done with you yet, darling.”

Pete woke up sometime in the early hours of the morning, having stayed up well past midnight due to the simple fact that neither of you could get enough of each other, indulging in discovering every bit of the other with your hands and mouths again and again until you eventually grew too weak and tired to tolerate anymore pleasure.

The window was open just as Pete had it any other night, the sounds of the other sleepless people of East London drifting into his bedroom along with the chilly air. A lazy smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, thinking how it couldn’t be possible to have ever been as comfortable in his bed as he was now, your presence beside him something he didn’t want to go without again.

He sighed as he shifted closer to you, moving his arm around your torso to tuck your back against his front even more, the warmth that was pouring off of you contrasting drastically to the cold clinging to the duvet. Nestling his nose into your neck, he searched for your hand in the dark, lacing your fingers together when he found it.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered, his voice sluggish, feeling you stir beside him as a soft whimper escaped you.

Sunday’s were already a favourite of his, a typical one spent down at The Abbey having pints with the boys or in the stadium cheering the Hammers on at home, but knowing he was going to wake up with you still in his arms had him looking even more forward to it.

If anyone had asked Pete a list of things he loved only a month or two ago he would’ve given his usual answer; football. West Ham United. The GSE. Scrapping other firms and the feeling that came with it. Teaching. Music and books. The soothing feeling of a pint on his hoarse throat after screaming through a match or the sting of a bruise on his face that reminded him of the minor injuries he had forgotten.

Never would he have considered the list changing to this.

You. Your smile and laugh. The way you looked at him. The way his heart jumped each time he saw your name on his phone or heard your sweet voice on the other end. The feel of your lips on his, or how supple your skin was against his palms whenever he touched you. Not to mention the way your quiet moans would grow whenever he did.

Pete inhaled deeply, drawing in your warm scent, knowing that if you weren’t wrapped up with him right now he would still have a difficult time believing this was real.

Something he never thought was possible. Something he never even considered as an option before his life had been completely turned upside down and nearly stolen from him.

Loving you was the best thing he had ever done in his life, and if it all vanished tomorrow with the rise of the sun, Pete would feel lucky to have experienced even half of what he had so far.

“Where are we going?” Jack asked from the back seat, noticing that you had deviated from your usual route to his house from his guitar practice.

“You’ll see!” you chimed, trying your best to relax as you drove, the anxiety you felt about being back behind the wheel ever-present, but knowing where you were headed was helping to keep you calm.

It was a relief to have your car out of the repair shop, no longer having to bum rides off of anyone or take the tube during the busiest parts of the day, but the convenience and gratitude you felt for having your independence again didn’t outshine the slight panic that lingered just below the surface, especially whenever Jack was with you.

The Stone Roses came on the radio, hearing the intro to “I Wanna Be Adored” bringing out your smile and making you turn the dial up, the lyrics allowing you to relax into your seat and loosen your grip on the steering wheel slightly.

Humming along, you felt your heart ache with that wonderful fullness that was becoming both familiar and craveable, the desire to chase it any time a thought of Pete came into your mind or a text from him came up on your phone a high you never wanted to end, the same feeling now related to songs you listened to together.

I don’t have to sell my soul,

He’s already in me.

The lyrics felt like a gospel, the words speaking the truth about how consumed by Pete you already were, the thought of having to sell your heart or soul laughable as you had handed it all over willingly and not once hesitated to do so.

You pulled up to the pitch where Pete and the other members of the GSE were playing a friendly game of football, seeing Jack’s face light up when you looked in the rearview mirror after putting the car in park.

“We’re only stopping for a bit,” you explained, not wanting him to think he was getting out of going home in time for tea and to do his homework.

The rain had been consistently falling all day, but that never stopped the love for the game, not minding being out in it now when you saw how happy they all were beneath the layers of mud and water.

Pete had just finished scoring a goal when he saw you and Jack standing at the sidelines, smiling brightly as he jogged over to you.

“Aye, aye!” he called, slowing before he crashed into you, his cold hands grabbing your cheeks as he planted an enthusiastic kiss on your lips.

“Hiya, love,” he murmured when he pulled away, sending you a wink before nodding over at Jack and ruffling his hair.

“Eh, Jack, you’re in, mate.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, go for it! You’ll be doing better than me,” he laughed. “My leg could do with a break, plus, these old geezers are all slowing down and getting tired so you’ll dodge around them no problem.”

Jack looked at you for permission to which you nodded and laughed, “Yes! Your cleats are still in my car from yesterday.”

“Yes!” Jack celebrated, jumping up and down on the spot before running back to the car to get his gear.

“You’ve just made his day,” you smiled, nudging Pete’s arm with your elbow as you swayed on the spot, wondering how they were all managing to stay warm when they were soaked through to their skin.

“Ah, he’s a good lad,” Pete complimented, both of you watching as he hurriedly changed his shoes and ran out onto the field where he was welcomed excitedly by Ned and Dave.

You couldn’t help but giggle, seeing Jack burst out laughing as Dave told him about Bovver’s bummed knee, explaining to him ways to twist him up and get around him fast enough he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Within a few minutes, the lads were all amping Jack up, calling him “Beckham” only to be corrected that he wanted to be like Ferdinand, and cheering and going on more than usual any time he got a goal, making the kid beam.

“Did you have a good day, darling?” Pete asked, taking your hand in his where he pulled you into him, his lips peppering over your forehead.

“It’s better now,” you sighed, allowing yourself to lean into him despite him being soaking wet.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You make everything better, Pete.”

You felt him hum, his chest rumbling with his approval at the same time his arms held you tighter, allowing you to inhale deeply to capture the mix of sweat, rain and fresh air as you nuzzled your face against him.

The tender moment lasted momentarily when Pete began shouting jeers at the boys, making you laugh the louder and more offensive his words became toward his mates, his body shaking as he began to crack up as well.

“Come on, Ned, the lad is almost taller than you!” Pete teased, promptly holding up his middle finger to Ned after being given one on each hand in response to his insult.

He chuckled and then kissed the top of your head before flicking your hood up to cover it, holding onto the edges to make sure it stayed up and shielded you as much as it could from the rain.

“I should get in there and put those idiots in their places,” he smiled, his blue eyes bright against the gloomy sky.

“Yeah, I need to get the little lad home,” you explained. “Thank you for this. You always make him feel like a star.”

Pete smirked, pulling out the creases around his mouth. “Ah, it’s all good, darling.”

Still holding onto your hood, he dipped in and kissed you, once and then again, unable to get enough, both of you losing focus on his return to the match and your departure.

“Why is it always impossible to say goodbye to you?” you accused, pulling your lip in your teeth until he kissed you again and forced you to release it.

“I get that a lot.”

He laughed when you squeezed him, the sound of it adding to the intoxication he had over you, and you melted even more when it quickly faded into a moan of desire when his lips met yours again, his kiss deepening with a sudden desperation.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” Ike’s voice rang out through the mix of someone else shouting for you to get a room and Jack yelling “Gross!”.

“Lovebirds?” Pete asked, his amusement clear in his grin as he laughed again and kissed you through his smile.

“Yeah,” you spoke against his lips, happy to confirm the sentiment.

He pulled away from you with a groan after another intense kiss, biting his lip this time out of restraint, his head shaking back and forth while looking at you hungrily.

“Mm. I'll be getting my hands on you later.”

Warmth spread through you, your love and arousal blooming for him even more in anticipation of what was coming next for you, seeing promises of intense pleasure glowing in his eyes as he stepped backwards and turned to jog back onto the pitch.

---

Part 5

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[local-crying-boy]

Not me who made a Hadir Karim playlist because I couldn't find any and had to put matters into my own hands..

Playlist link for those who actually want to listen here

Not like it's a very long one or one that might be very connected to Hadir, just songs that make me think of him every time they start playing.

Here are the songs that are on the playlist:

1. waiting Room (Phoebe Bridgers)

“Know it’s for the better” He stole the gas and used it because he wanted Urzikstan to be free. And “Plus, I know whatever happened to me, I know it’s for the better” because let’s be honest he probably knew he was going to die at some point, and he knew that it most likely wasn’t going to be from natural causes, not with the war he grew up in.

2. Fool (Bôa)

“You and I, born as fools now.” I don’t know what it is about this line, but it hits and it makes me think of Hadir. Maybe because he used the gas, making Farah despise him. “You and I think, think we rule now” this mf became Commander at some point, which just ENRAGES Farah, no?

3. O Superman (Laurie Anderson)

Well, does this song need any explaining? I found this song on a Farah playlist (made by one of my favourite Tumblr accounts, hence me making a post about the Hadir playlist). So if this song makes me think of Farah, it immediately makes me think of Hadir.

4. Love and War (Fluerie)

Love and War, says it in the title, no? Plus, “the truth begins to show”? Him using the stolen gas to save Farah and Alex, but only killing the Russian army and some ULF soldiers (if I remember correctly). And don’t even get me started on “lover, hunter, friend and enemy, you will always be every one of these.” UGHHH it's such a good line and I think that it represents Hadir very well, maybe alongside Farah too.

5. In the house - In a Heartbeat (John Murphy)

Do I really need a reason for this song? It's so good and it makes me think of numerous edit ideas (despite the fact that I give up on editing the minute I open Capcut), just the vibe and sound reminds me of Hadir, makes me think of his whole character development, his story, ect:

6.Forest (Twenty One Pilots)

"The situation's becoming dire" The line makes me think of the moment when Hadir calls Alex to help him get the gas, making it be used and everything kicking off and him becoming the enemy. "And for some reason I smell gas on my hands" well, this needs no explanation. "This is not what I had planned" Although I think that Hadir knew that Farah would have gone against him the moment he decided to use the gas, I feel like he wouldn't expect her to basically turn on him so much that it seemed like she didn't love him anymore.

7.Army Dreamers (Kate Bush)

I think everyone can see why I put this song on here, not only because it is such an amazing song, but also because Hadir is obviously a solider. Also, I know the song's meaning is about a mother grieving her son dying because of war. HOWEVER, the song does heavily remind me of PTSD that soldiers suffer from (more so from the music video where all their eyes are wide, which kinda is like Shell Shock/PTSD), and I'm 100% certain that Hadir, like any other character is CoD, would suffer from some type of mental illness, or nightmares, or grief/guilt from being soldiers.

8. I know it's over (The Smiths)

The repeat phrase of 'Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head" just makes me think of how he died and, in my head, I have an image of him just dead and, well, we know his and Farah's parents are dead. I don't know how to explain it exactly, been staring at this paragraph trying to figure out what the hell I'm trying to say. But it just makes me think a lot of him and his mother, because I seriously get vibes from him that he was a mama's boy before she passed.

9. Advice (Alex G)

"The world is full of fishes, but I trust you" really makes me think of him and Farah, because the two of them would have had to relied on each other at a young age after their parents died and when they were building up ULF and during their time in prison. They would have had a lot of trust in one another, which makes sense with the amount of pure betrayal and rage we hear in Farah's voice when she finds out Hadir stole the gas and then used it. The two of them would have had such an almost unbreakable relationship, not only because they are siblings, they trusted one another and they went through so much, they would have HAD to have trusted each other.

10. Poison Tree (Grouper)

This song alone has so much emotion to it, it ALTERS my brain chemistry. I love this song, so it just meant I had to link it to one of my favourite characters. Which, therefore, means it has a place on the playlist.

11. The Hand that feeds (The Crane Wives)

This song screams Farah, but I feel like it could apply to both Hadir and Farah. Afterall, the both of them are doing a tiring job that is going to both mentally and physically drain them. It's dangerous and they know it. "My papa taught me how to growl, how to bear my teeth and growl", although in the scene where we see of kid Farah and Hadir, their father turns to Hadir and says to 'stay strong for Farah', this is probably one of the many reasons why he does so much for her, even if makes her fucking despise Hadir for what he's done.

12. I wait for you (Alex_g_offline)

"I wait for you" I don't know what is it about the repeated line that makes me think so much about Hadir, about his whole character, but for some reason it really does.

13. If we have each other (Alec Benjamin

The song that makes me, really, think of any two characters that are related. "So I'm thankful for my sister, even though sometimes we fight" the line is more so towards the usual sibling type fights that happens throughout with growing up with siblings, which would easily be able to apply to the two of them. However, it also makes me think about the fact that Hadir still loves Farah and calls her sister, even when she hates him. When he was dying, he even said to her that he still loves her even though she hates him now (something along those lines)

14.Where'd all the time go? (Dr. Dog)

"There ain't no way to sweep up the mess that we've made" I know it says 'we' but I think that Hadir regrets what he did, even if he believes that it helps winning against the Russian army, I don't think he likes that fact that Farah hates him over it and he knows that he can't do anything to fix that, to 'sweep up the mess'. There's no fixing that, there was no fixing that broken trust between them after that.

[distortedclouds]

Can you really explain in detail what black water Annie’s dad has against Armin is he just “nobody can love my daughter more than me” and controlling cause hes a narcissist or is there another reason? Cause we know the hate is obviously mutual between armin and annies dad but Armin is a good guy for annie, he’s literally a commander why wouldn’t he be happy knowing he treated her horribly?? Sorry for it being so long but i had been thinking about this for a while

Well sorry this took FOREVER for me to answer, anon, but here I am! (promise im not dead)

I think one of the hardest characters to write in BW was Mr. Leonhart. because it's so easy to make him a two-dimensional villain with very little nuance. So it does help to try and see things from his perspective a little bit, even if we're ignoring the selfish/self-centered accusations made by me numerous time. 10 years ago, him and Annie made a promise that it's them against the world, that neither him nor Annie need anyone else to rely on as long as they have each other. This is when he said that she can make the whole world her enemy but he'd still be on her side and that's all that matters

By the end of the series, you can see Mr Leonhart kept good on his "promise" he seems to still be only focused on her returning, keeping to himself because that's what he told Annie to do. But now she's back, and she hadn't kept her "promise" of it just being the two of them, she now has friends she can rely on, people she trusts and loves and who love her back

I think there is a sense of betrayal on his end, but I don't see him turning against Annie after 10 whole years of waiting for her and believing she's alive. Instead, it's much more realistic of him going the route of "it's other people" who are taking her away from me so that starts causing some resentment even towards Annie herself

I've also pointed out before that I don't believe he actually knows Annie as a person. He never got to know her before he "changed his ways" so it's really hard for him to comprehend why other people may like her, especially since his own "paternal feelings" are primarily guided by guilt, rather than something more inherently positive. So, of course, anyone who's trying to get close to Annie, must have some nefarious reasoning and ill-intent towards her, so he must protect her now, unlike when he "failed" from protecting her from Marley

Armin is the target of his hatred because he is successfully taking Annie away from him, because hero of the final battle, commander in the army, and an ambassador important worldwide, surely he doesn't have an interest in a "damaged" girl beyond the fact that she's easier to take advantage of

Also, while not a part of BW, I can totally imagine his passive aggressiveness towards anyone (but especially Armin) trying to take Annie away from him if he found out that it was Armin and her friends who put her there in the first place would turn into hostility

This is all my trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the characterization I apply the most to Mr Loenhart is the one I have pinned on my blog of him focusing on his own redemption and making up for his mistakes, with being Annie's father till his last day as the only way he could do it and anyone taking Annie from him is dooming him into irredeemably. Though that's more subconscious

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Commandments of submission

Samuel Lafferty x wife!reader

warning : smutish, power imbalance, mishandling of faith, sexism, hypocracie, bitting, dom/sub dynamix, no use of Y/n, I'm using the concept from the show and not the real faith, it is for entertainment only

Summary : Now that his brother was the leader, Sam and his brothers could do whatever they wanted on the farm. And on a free weekend with just his wife, he's the man of the house and it's time he reminded his wife how disobedient it is to stray from the right path and the shameful consequences it has had.

info : What is this? a fic about Sammuel after months, well i was in the right mood for this hot thing here, enjoy reading ;)

masterlist ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ God created Adam, a man in the pure paradise of the Garden of Eden, Adam's eyes beheld a world full of peace, food and life. A story of gratitude to God and being content with what you have.

But also a story of sin committed with blood, love and temptation after Eve was created from his rib. A beautiful woman, a kind woman, his wife.

Adam's wife who owed him her life, a woman who was there for Adam with her beauty and grace, entertaining him physically and spiritually.

The thought that the serpent wooed her with the apple and the perversion of her head to come closer not out of self-interest but out of love of her own free choice could not be.

With the bite of freedom into the apple, Eve had chosen her way out of the clutches of her husband and into a life with the devil, who loved her more than her God.

For such courage to break out of the clutches of everything she knew, she was banished into the world where she was alone and the devil could take care of her, for good or ill.

Adam, the first man who had lost his oh so beloved Eve, had already wrapped his hands around another woman again created by him why have only one wife when he could have as many wives as he wanted. Because the wife had to submit to her husband…a commandment that has prevailed to this day.

Samuel didn't know any different, since he was born he had been given everything he wanted as a boy and then as a man, or at least he had been taught that as long as there was a cock between his legs and he wasn't a woman, everything would be in his favour. Whether it was his priority at work, his pay or his family.

A family that he wanted for himself-no, that he wanted to create himself, because like Adam, he would create his own wife, marry her and the children that would result would be the greatest gift he could give back to God.

A goal he achieved when he met his wife at one of the town fairs where his family not only enjoyed respect as money donors but also had access to everything and everyone.

He saw her there, his age, a young woman watching the spectacle and quite by chance a member of his community with a father who had connections to wealthy mines, not only was she pretty, she also brought something to his marriage when he made her his for only a few months, she was his and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Every time he looked at her, there was satisfaction in his blue eyes that she was his, his ‘Eva’, his immaculate, lovely one.

A marriage that celebrated her pregnancy only a few months after it was consummated, with each passing month she became a statue in her own right, an object of fertility and beauty at his command.

,,You can do this on your own, can't you darling? I know I can rely on my wife" he always put her off during the months, resigning himself to the idea of her learning, the sooner she realised that he wasn't helping her, that the tasks were separate and that he wouldn't touch the household.

It had taken until the second child for her to understand that her destiny was the children and his goodwill…whether she was in the mood or not.

From the first moment he had taken her virginity, her pretty uncertain look as hers clung to him, as she wrapped her legs around him when he told her to do so, to the day they were together and the power dynamic of the family changed, her family changed too.

He seemed to have become addicted to that moment when she looked at him so helplessly, this dumb pretty woman who belonged to him could only turn to him.

It was a feeling of unrestricted power and he was addicted to it.

The love they shared seemed to get rougher, for every mistake she made his gaze seemed all the more punishing, his hand all the rougher and his words all the more damning inside her. Even his kisses seemed to become more possessive with every day he was away from her or otherwise.

All until his family announced they were leaving for a weekend away for a meeting with the federation. After a brief heartfelt farewell to the children, the adults felt the change in their own hearts as they saw the apologetic look on Diana's face as she hurriedly put the last child in the car and pulled her sister-in-law into a hug before hastily getting in.

Samuels hand, which had been gently gripping hers before, tightened around hers, ,,I told you to be cheerful, it'll be your fault if she calls and asks," he hissed warningly at her and they both smiled after the cars until they had driven off the property and Sam was finally alone with his wife.

The brief sound of a slap on her ass pierced the quiet of the expansive property, ,,Make me my dinner wife we have a lot to celebrate tonight" he told her and she nodded hastily, her gaze automatically going to the ground as he suddenly grabbed her.

Blue eyes demanded something, respect of the herachie in the house and she gave a ,,Yes…sir’ a title not just as master of the house, an address from her master now that she was at his mercy.

The tantalising look he gave her passed searchingly over her body and glanced for a moment at the purposely undone button of her dress before releasing her and watching her walk into the house as he himself walked across "his" land. As the front door closed, the walls seemed to take on eyes.

Even if his gaze did not pass through the walls of the house, she felt her husband's gaze on her from the moment she went into the bedroom and took the box from the wardrobe hidden under blankets and pillows.

With a shaky breath she left the door of the room ajar, a crack had to remain open for him as she opened the lid and looked at the black lingerie with stockings. It had been a gift from her husband, initially as a joke, but she quickly realised how much the sight excited him, the contrast between chastity and perversity.

She undid the buttons of her flowered dress and the fabric slid to the floor as she slowly pulled herself out of her clothes, shaky fingers taking the bra and underwear off last and her naked body folding the clothes on the bed.

She didn't have to look up to see that the door had opened slightly wider, didn't have to look up to see the bright blue eyes that were now seeing every inch of her exposed body and didn't have to look up to see the stroke across the middle of his body as she pulled on the lingerie.

The black lacy fabric clung to her body like the first day, tighter than the dress and blouse she owned. The last thing in the box was the black stiletto heels, the pointed thin heel obscenely like a false cross on the floor as she slipped into them.

It was like a lace of shame as she closed the box and looked at her body in the mirror for a moment, the thought of finding such a thing attractive in the knowledge that it was normal, even human, seemed to give her little comfort as she made her way out of the room as Sam's footsteps disappeared-but not his gaze.

Saying goodbye and packing had taken time, time that didn't allow for lunch, so she knew he wanted something bigger for dinner.

She was glad that half of the week's shopping was still there, enough for a good steak with wine sauce, freshly harvested vegetables and a small cake with chocolate glaze, a meal that was only served on birthdays or other special days, if at all.

But it was a meal he liked, he enjoyed the tender, bloody meat and when she heard his soft, satisfied exhalation after a bite of steak, she relaxed.

The large kitchen, which was actually meant for just a few people, was not only her place, her real place as he always said, but also a place where she could think freely. As much as he watched her, she knew that he was usually outside or in the cellar while she was making food and cleaning up.

After just a few minutes, the pots and pans gave off a full-bodied odour that spread through the kitchen and into the living room where the food would be cooked later, her hands deftly making time where she could during the brief minutes of cooking, tidying away the children's toys and wiping away a little dirt and dust.

The meat was kept warm, the vegetables were steaming well, she would simply reheat the small cakes, the sauce was still missing.

The sauce from the body of Christ, the blood, the deep red that she poured into a small pot and added the spice, she held the dark false one in her hand, the symbol of the apple hanging from the black tree, the irony of the story behind it.

Her gaze flitting around the kitchen she listened to the silence but only heard the rustling from downstairs as he went through the papers and talk of his brothers Please…just let everything be alright today she prayed before putting the bottle to her lips for a long sip before she hurriedly continued cooking, the guilt in her struggling with her conscience.

Before she finally finished just before eight and put the food on the table, her heels making a tocking sound as she walked to the cellar door and knocked with a final deep inhale and exhale, ,,Dinner is ready sir," it slipped from her tongue, the words heavy yet familiar. Too familiar for her to memorise and too new for her not to be ashamed.

It was a moment before she heard the familiar footsteps coming up the stairs, the wooden cellar door opened and she saw an appraising look, ,,It smells appetising, good," he said with a brief nod of recognition before he sat down at the dining table and she hurriedly served him the food.

Saw how he had brought up another bottle of wine from the cellar, an older one, a noble drop as her father-in-law always called such a thing, ,,His blood as a reward for your domestic gifts" Samuel said after a few minutes of eating, looking at her as she sat on a chair diagonally opposite him, taking only a small portion of the food herself so as not to fall into the sin of gluttony.

,,Thank the lord and you sir” she said as she put her wine glass over to him and looked at the dark red liquid collecting in the glass. Enough to get her drunk at least, because when the eyes of the family were gone you could do whatever you wanted.

She mostly sat still, her hand folded on her scoop, occasionally lifting her gaze to see if he had finished his meal to get the next one, ,,A real treat for the mouth and the eye," he said as she fetched him the little chocolate cake, but his look meant her.

As much as these feelings of love, hate, fear and excitement were in her, she couldn't deny that praise like this honoured her, you could almost forget the uncomfortable tightness of the clothes.

The white icing sugar was like snow on the cake as the silver fork slid in and he took a bite, the sigh of pleasure making her relax, ,,Here, try it, it's delicious," Sam said, holding out a bite.

Savoury chocolate, with a hint of the sweetness of sugar forbidden sweet as in the eternal garden, ,,Good," he praised as the fork was placed on the plate and he leaned forward slightly from his chair, stroking his hand over her cheek, delighting in her softness, the devoted look, the sweet lips as he engaged her in a kiss.

Samuels other hand cool, making her shudder as he ran it over the extravagantly revealing clothes, the little skin that was covered was like a gift to him, he would take every little bit of fabric from her until she lay before him just as naked as she was then.

His hand gesture a simple sign signalled her to rise and he pointed to the dining table, her gaze briefly showing hesitation, a place to gather and eat, a place of ‘cleanliness’ with something so dirty.

But his hand gripping her wrist and pushing in that direction knew he wanted it that way, ,,Sit down" he indicated and she sat down on the edge of the table, thinking she should lie down, but as he ran his fingers gently over her face her eyelids closed in another smile that she complied with.

She heard him push a chair aside, the slight rustle of clothes and she flinched as she felt his cool fingers on her ankles, her hasty exhale as she had to put all her vertareun into him, ,,Move too much and instead of my wife you'll be little more than a servant, understand?" her husband asked and she didn't have to look down to see the cool eyes of how serious he was.

Her ‘mistakes’ over the last few weeks had been corrected by her and him, eating had probably changed his mind again for a reward but in the blink of an eye he could change emotionally, ,,Yes sir I understand…thank you" she replied, keeping her hand steady beside her trying not to nervously play with the lingerie while the silence in the house seemed like a time bomb.

Her unsteady breathing met his savouring as he kissed her ankle, the tip of his nose wandered up her legs, lips kissed tender flesh and she suppressed a whimper as he lifted her leg to bite her thigh.

His flesh, created by him, he would taste pleasure as he ripped into her skin and the blood of the saint flowed through her, ‘Stimulating’ he murmured as he ran his fingers over the tooth mark, carved into her skin, wanting to bury himself in her.

Samuel went further up and she suppressed the reflex to rub her thighs together, not wanting more than her due, she was a wife not a whore.

She thought she could see his fucking grin as he stopped just short of her centre and ran a finger over it, ‘You're practising patience, almost chastity, only a whore would get wet. Tell me, is there one?’ he asked.

His wife knew it was a test, that he wanted her to open her eyes and disobey his instructions, ,,No sir…I'm not a whore, I'm yours and no one else's, my lust serves you…not me" she replied keeping her eyes closed and trying not to answer too hastily not to show him how aroused she was, how excited her heart was.

The right answer.

Because a single ‘good girl’ came from him and he continued to play the game on the table until of course she lost, until he had her kneeling in front of him begging to be nothing more than a lusty, lust-induced something so he could have the feeling of power.

A game for him and the reality for her that continued in the bedroom, with every bite, every lick of her wounds, every laugh and further demand he tightened his net around her as every other piece of her body was released to him.

And as she felt him, her husband, the man she belonged to and felt him against her, the thought matured in her that fought with her conscience in lust.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to belong to a man after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@starry-eyed-wild-child , @angelsanarchy , @bonesgirl11 , @loljustignoreth4t , @fallin444niya , @escuellascupid , @unforgettable444 , @707otto , @kristennero-wallacewellsver

[encrucijada]

BABYLON BOY & GOSSAMER GIRL by pía & teddy

♡ genre & categroy: literary fiction, adult

♡ pov: dual 3rd person

♡ teddy and i revisited the beginnings of mari & theo and came out of it with a rewrite of their first story that reclaimed its place as their real canon??, duology + all the novellas we want, alliteration galore, sometimes all you need is a personal project with your qpp

♡ a reminder that teddy is @teddywriting

♡ cw: drug addiction, child neglect, homelessness, imperfect recovery, unmedicated mental illness

♡ themes: second opportunities, self-love, family both chosen and born, gentleness, what if choosing to live your life was an option

a b o u t :

babylon boy - circa late 00s. theo and maripaz find each other while searching for meaning, but they're not quite the answer they were looking for. having independently run away from home they are focused on survival. maripaz left behind a family with more kids her parents knew what to do with and a boyfriend she never really liked. theo cut his family's losses and he hopes eventually they will stop missing him, his problems are his own. survival leads to companionship leads to friendship leads to i would be really bummed if you ever parted from me. there is no future as they hop from place to place, shoplift, and try to have a night of rest, there is only today and maybe tomorrow. gossamer girl - circa early 10s. the most earth shattering things still happen walking down the street or in the store.

in other words: a story told in two parts (plus a few others) about maripaz and theo—who ran away from home to spare their families the trouble. maripaz was only taking up space in her house and theo definitely does not have a drug addiction problem. they meet when theo helps maripaz shoplift from a grocery store and he steals one of the two necklaces she brought with her, this one with an angel charm (this is important). teddy is writing the theo pov and i am writing the mari pov and they go back and forth throughout.

c h a r a c t e r s :

maría paz "maripaz" vega. would rather die than ever express a want or need. should be dancing to abba at a discotheque. loves valentine's day themed stuff unironically. sixth daughter of eight kids. audhd. constantly interrupting her narration with snippets of the past. wants love to fix her so so bad. i think that i'm not who you think i am / but i like to be seen and i like to be wanted [better than this - lizzy mcalpine].

theodore "theo" rayes. hasn't had a problem ever his brain is so normal promise. should be doing silly tricks at the skate park. smartest stupidest pretty boy you'll ever meet. twin brother (older). autistic. constantly interrupting his narration with daydreams of the future. has these drugs under control (trust me). medicate, meditate, save your soul for jesus / throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason [call your mum - noah kahan].

the actual plot is less important than these two's emotional journeys. the conflict comes from... why isn't how much i love you enough to make everything right? what if you wanted someone to choose you and mean it. what if you wanted to be someone people can rely on. what if we were what the other person is looking for but where we're at right now is making it so hard but here we are, we are staying.

aesthetic: the changing lights of a carnival ferris wheel, tongues coloured from candy, heart-shaped sunglasses, intertwined fingers, the murmur of the ocean tide, fine white sand, pink and orange sunsets, hands sticky from melting ice cream, light refracted on a suncatcher, cramped secondhand bookstores, the buzz of fluorescent lights in a hospital waiting room, freckle-covered cheeks, the heads of strawberries, nightlife lights refracted on wet pavement, a necklace you never take off, rhinestone decorated flip phones, a steady heartbeat, graffities that scream for something more, homemade plastic jewellery, the light behind your head looks like a halo, tangled bedsheets, soft music at the grocery store, the cold of the frozen aisle, photographs from disposable cameras, porcelain angels

snippet for you:

Watermelon in triangles.

“That one’s mine.” Carla had grabbed one of the soup bowls, then the watermelon Maripaz had picked, and another one. Juan Pa had left then unattended after calling up the stairs if anyone wanted any.

“Girls,” Mum called from the living room, her telenovela was so loud Maripaz had been able to hear it from the second floor. Bringing herself to do homework before dark was hard enough. “No fighting, please. I don’t want to deal with this.”

Carla had watermelon juice, a single drop of it, rolling down her chin. “Don’t make a scene. It’s just fucking watermelon, just grab another one.”

Maripaz made a scene.

The soup bowl broke into six separate pieces when it crashed on the floor. Carla screamed, not from pain, but indignation and anger. She shoved Maripaz so hard she knocked over one of the kitchen table chairs.

“Girls! Por el amor de Dios, not one second of peace in this house.”

the universe as a whole has been baptised as HOME HABITAT. but you will see this tagged as #bb&gg, as well as any variation of #maripaz&theo. teddy and i have at least 2 novellas planned to bridge the gap between babylon boy and gossamer girl, and one prequel about maripaz's oldest sister. but more on that some other time!

[thestobingirlie]

Do you have any random thoughts or hcs about Steve and his parents? I know that’s vague but if you have just like anything to say about them I’d love to hear it because the little snippets you say about them and the way they’re portrayed in your Saint Stephen fic has entranced me

i think about steve and his parents a lot so sure!!! here’s my (current and subject to change) harrington family backstory (some of these might be repetitions of previous hc posts, but i can’t be arsed to go back searching for them):

i think steve’s dad, richard harrington (hereafter referred to as dick) has a big thing about proving himself. he started working for his dad right out of high school (a real estate company), and he always wanted to prove that he was deserving of it, and live up to the standards his father set for him. he dedicates so much time to the business that it grows from being hawkins based, to indiana based, and so on.

he was a hawkins boy, born and raised, unlike diane, the future mrs harrington. he liked that she was from out of town, made him feel bigger than the small town he grew up in.

they had steve when dick was in his 30s, and diane in her late twenties. diane suffered through the birth, and decided she never wanted another child. she found it hard to connect with steve as a baby, and felt uneasy about her position as a stay at home mother. all of this culminating in the steve falling down the stairs incident, at which point dick gave in and hired a nanny.

steve and diane do still bond though, and when steve’s a toddler he’s become a total mommy’s boy.

dick got rich, had women throwing themselves at him, and cheated on his wife. repeatedly.

now, steve and dick were originally pretty close. dick wasn’t ever really that close to his dad, who suffered a lot with ptsd, and he didn’t want to make that same mistake. but then steve (at around 6 years old) caught him with his affair partner, and told diane.

dick was trying to apologise and make it work, when his parents started getting old and ill. and diane came up with the ultimatum that either they move back to dick’s hometown where she can keep a better eye on him, or they’re done.

he starts to resent pretty much his entire family. steve for catching him and telling diane, his parents for getting sick, and diane for making him move home.

so they move, but that doesn’t end dick’s affairs, and instead causes an even bigger divide in the family. he still has to travel frequently for the company, and diane doesn’t actually want to leave dick or their family, so instead of dealing with it, she lashes out at dick, and emotionally relies, very heavily, on steve. who she calls her best friend and the only person in the world she has left in her corner. it becomes a pretty unhealthy relationship, though neither would recognise that. steve likes helping his mum! he wants to support her and be in her corner, and with his growing resentment towards his father, he feels it’s his duty to stand up for her.

dick never really liked how close steve and diane were, in the typical 80s father fashion of not wanting a sissy for a son, but he especially didn’t like the way diane was turning steve against him. but any attempt to rectify this just sent steve further away. and by the time we see steve in canon, he interprets pretty much anything his dad does in a negative light. deservingly or not.

as a family they have a lot of issues, but they do all love each other, though sometimes they might not feel loved by one another.

and as it stands in the saint stephen universe, the loss of steve really did cause the entire family to just fall apart. they can’t function without him. they hadn’t realised how much their marriage had grown to rely on steve until he was gone. and, for better or worse, it’s caused a lot of realisations about their dynamics (primarily for dick, who’s suddenly aware of just how distant he and steve were, and that, much like his relationship with his dad, he no longer has the opportunity to fix it)

anyway, if you want anything more specific just ask!!! and thank you! i’ve loved using saint stephen to explore diane and dick’s characters, and i’m glad you’ve enjoyed them!

[dr-lizortecho]

what if you do 'stay here tonight' w the psychic twins tho 👀

Kept getting derailed from the prompt so it’s a little bit long, lol. But some lost decade Psychic Twins with some Max and Michael angst for flavor

The firelight is warm and comforting, casting an orange glow on Isobel’s face as she giggles around the lip of her wine glass and making the whole atmosphere of the room feel safer. Almost reminiscent of the nights he would spend sleeping cocooned in a pile of blankets on her floor, hand stroking through his hair as she’d mindscaped him into happier dreams.

Except this is safer.

Instead of the tenuous relationship with their abilities and the ever looming possibility of being discovered from an ill timed power surge caused by a night terror, they were in a space far removed from Roswell’s power grid. Not only that they were adults, relying on each other and steady incomes.

“I’m just saying-“ Max smiles as he grabs the bottle and tops off his glass of Merlot “-if I was to write you as a character you would not appreciate any form of a name change- so at the very least it can be a homage to Mrs. Long.”

Isobel snorts. “Jezebel though? I appreciate the double entendre as much as the next person- but you couldn’t think of anything less biblical?”

She holds out her wine glass so Max can fill it back up. They’re both pleasantly buzzed, cheeks tinged rosy.

If it was up to him they wouldn’t discuss his writing, which they technically weren’t. More so playing with the concept of something he’d never do. Wrote an account of their coming to Earth, an acknowledgment of what he would never be.

His typewriter was practically staring him down from where he’d left it when she’d shown up with a bottle of wine and the news that their mother had made an unexpected visit to her and Noah. Which would have been fine if Anne Evans didn’t have a way of pushing every single one of Izzy’s buttons, both sending her up a metaphorical wall and making her insecure. A look that didn’t suit her, one no one except their mom could put in her face.

But her eyes gleamed with something almost fragile, and her mouth was pressed into a thin line. Not at all Isobel.

“My writings definitely something less…” Max chews at his bottom lip. “Sensationalized?”

“It’s boring then?” Izzy quips. Humor and a soft look in her eyes, letting him know she’s only teasing.

“Actually, yeah,” Max chuckles. “Boring in as much as it’s about everyday people’s internal worlds and lack thereof. About the introspection of the mind and the soul.”

Isobel rolls her eyes. “So pretentious.”

Max laughs, heart stinging inexplicably at the reminder of a high school outing in the desert.

“Only a little, but it runs in the family,” he teases back. Which earns him a soft glare.

Isobel takes another drink of her wine. “So…”

Max waits. Swirling the garnet red liquid in his glass, mesmerized by how it stays level as it swishes back and forth. “So?”

“So next month is our birthday.”

It stings, harsh and bitter. Their birthday sat uncomfortably close to a different marker of time- another tragic event. Three kids found wandering the desert and three kids found dead in the desert. It was almost a terrifying trade- like they were some cursed fae changelings that Roswell couldn’t quite shake.

“It is,” Max says simply, giving her a weak smile before taking a large gulp of his wine. Wishing it was something stronger, like the bourbon in his kitchen cabinets.

Isobel sighs, running a finger along the rim of her glass. “We could do something- the three of us.”

“If he’s ready.” It’s short clipped. Cold enough it makes Isobel look sad, makes something almost like a flinch occur in their psychic bond.

Max feels bad. But he can’t help it. That’s the fucked up bit, at this point him and Michael are both just shielding themselves from hurt, and making it all that much worse.

“We talk later. For now I would much rather spend the night reading whatever you’ve written this week, and denouncing Bridge club.” Izzy smiles softly, it warm and sweet.

She always gave him space, gave him time. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when it had been almost seven years.

Max chortles. “I’d ask what they did this time- but I think I already know.”

Isobel gasps. “The baby shaming? Or the ‘it’s a shame your husband doesn’t make enough that you don’t have to slave away darling, you look pale’?”

“They didn’t,” Max does his best scandalized voice. Hand clutching over his heart.

“Yes,” she says sternly. The joke melting into something a little too serious as there’s a stern twist to her mouth. “It doesn’t help that Noah is keen for children.”

Max presses his lips together tight, nodding as he gives his twin an appraising look. “You’d make a good mom.”

“I’m not ready,” she says with a shrug. “We just got married.”

“Like five years ago,” Max teases lightly.

Isobel kicks at him. “Shut up.”

There’s a soft pause as they both drink their glasses of wine. Just enjoying each other's presence. They didn’t get to do this as often anymore. Between Isobel being married and Max working long shifts.

Their lives were busy, chaotic.

But this was what gif Max through. Kept him sane, safe.

“Stay here tonight?” He asks abruptly. Wanting to cling to the soft warmth and safety he felt with her. To stay up until four in the morning laughing until his face hurt and the insecurity and worry in Isobel’s eyes drained away.

Isobel smiles. “Get the other bottle of wine and I’ll text Noah.”

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

When Kristin Batykefer fell ill with a headache, sore throat and body aches, the other women in her house baked her cookies, served her homemade vegetable soup and took her four-year-old daughter to the park so she could rest.

“Support system like no other,” Batykefer, 33, wrote on a TikTok post that has since been viewed more than one million times. “Shoulda moved into a mommune a long time ago.”

Batykefer had no idea that her video — and the concept of mommunes, a group of single mothers sharing a house, bills, childcare and support, seen in the US for the past decade or so — would go viral. When last year she split from her husband and lost her job, an old family friend with grown-up children invited her to move into her house in Jacksonville, Florida, while she found her feet. Then Batykefer was contacted by an old college roommate, Tessa Gilder, 32, who was also going through a divorce, with two children, aged five and one. “Tessa was, like, ‘I can’t do it any more.’ I said, ‘Come here. You’ll be welcomed with open arms.’ Originally our plan was we’d get our own place together, but once she arrived we became like a little family unit and it’s just awesome. Our friends said, ‘Stay as long as you guys want.’ ”

The 1960s and 1970s saw the rise of communes where like-minded souls joined together to raise families in capitalism-defying self-sufficiency. In a 21st-century version, more and more women are channelling the age-old spirit of sisterhood to establish mommunes, to tackle the ever-rising cost of living and everyday motherhood grind. “We just help each other out,” Batykefer explains over Zoom. “It’s not ‘You do the dishes, I’ll take out the trash,’ it’s more when we see something needs to be done we just do it. As a mother that’s just what your instincts are. It’s so nice having three minds in a house thinking like that.”

Indeed, as the thousands of comments on Batykefer’s posts make clear, many women in relationships — even happy ones — are envious of her mommune’s roll-up-your-sleeves environment. “There are some comments saying, ‘My husband does all this for me,’ but about 95 per cent say, ‘Wow, how do I get part of this?’ So many are from married women asking, ‘Where do I drop my husband off? I’m joining!’ ” Batykefer says, laughing. “It resonates because there are so many what we call ‘single married women’ out there who are not getting the kind of help with the physical, mental and emotional labour of being a parent that we have. I definitely didn’t get this support in my marriage, it all fell on me. If I was sick, I still had to cook for us and make sure my daughter was fed and taken care of and entertained.”

Batykefer, who before her break-up was documenting on TikTok her family’s itinerant life on a renovated bus, is also revelling in living in an environment free of marital bickering. “Whenever I would be driving our bus when I was married, it was such a stressful, anxiety-inducing experience because of the negative energy, but I’ve just been on a bus trip with a girlfriend, driving the whole time, and it was so peaceful and amazing.”

There are 2.5 million single-mother families in the UK, according to the Office for National Statistics, a figure that has more than tripled since the 1970s, as the stigma about divorce has decreased and women have gained more financial independence. But several international studies show that single mothers are at greater risk of physical and mental health disorders compared with their married counterparts, mainly as a result of lack of support — with many women living far away from their extended families.

Financial stresses can also be overwhelming, with a recent marked rise in lone-parent families using food banks or relying on benefits. A report last month by the Institute for Fiscal Studies showed that half of such families are now living in relative poverty.

While there are no official, large-scale mommunes in the UK or US, many single mothers are turning to local mommune groups on platforms such as Facebook (the London branch has 700-plus members) to find others to team up with.

Sara Memba, 34, a restaurant worker from Barcelona who has a one-year-old son, is sharing a house with a friend with four children aged between one and eleven in south London after finding that landlords were reluctant to have her as a tenant. “Many don’t trust single mothers to pay the rent on their own or they think your kid is going to destroy their house,” she says. Memba loves her situation. “We can go to work knowing our children are well cared for and it’s great to find a person with whom to talk and share concerns, joys and different, sometimes contradictory, emotions. It’s fun for the children too — they have more playmates and adventures.”

In an ideal world she’d love to see flats built specifically for single mothers. “There’d be common areas and spaces adapted for children to facilitate socialisation between neighbours. It would make a very difficult experience so much easier.”

The author Janet Hoggarth, from East Dulwich, south London — whose latest novel is Us Two — struggled after her divorce from her husband of 11 years, when she was left to bring up her three children, aged five, three and one. When she discovered that her friend Vicki Hillman, who had a newborn, had split from her fiancé, she invited her to move into her attic bedroom. Another single mother of two who lived around the corner frequently joined them in the evenings and stayed at weekends.

“I was feeling utterly bereft. I was navigating a divorce that took ages while juggling the kids and we were all feeling quite traumatised. It was so nice to have another adult there who knew how you felt, who could help me fill out forms, talk to lawyers and bounce ideas off. Plus, when the kids are in bed at night and you’re rolling around the house alone, you have company, which was such a relief because most of my contemporaries were busy with their own families. It stopped my constant feeling of a racing heart and feeling sick in my stomach. It was like a weird miracle drug.”

After two years Hillman moved out because she wanted a bedroom for her daughter but the women are still close friends. “We rubbed along really well without any bitchiness. It was very reassuring, like being in a family, just a different version of it. It really did stop me feeling broken. There’s definitely a different energy in an all-mothers house — there’s no weird bouncing of egos and someone expecting a medal for having wiped down the sides or polishing their halo because they’ve taken the bins out. Everyone just gets on.”

Not all mommunes are so successful. Elizabeth (surname withheld), 34, tried briefly sharing a flat with an old friend in Liverpool, when both had baby daughters. “We thought it would be perfect, but even though we got along well, our babies’ sleeping schedules were completely incompatible, which made it impossible for them to do anything together. I had no child support and had to work crazy hours with a long commute and my baby in a nursery, while she had a generous settlement from her ex and didn’t work. The imbalance made life so much more stressful than it would have been living alone. I felt guilty I couldn’t be around to do more babysitting. I still think mommunes are a brilliant idea, not least because being a single mum is so horribly expensive, but just as with any housemate, you have to find the right person.”

Victoria Benson, chief executive of Gingerbread, a charity for single-parent families that offers local networks for single parents to connect, agrees that mommunes are one “creative solution to a big problem. But we need to see a better welfare system, an increase in flexible work, and more affordable and available childcare that works for all single-parent families.”

Batykefer’s mommune keeps on giving, as demonstrated by the TikToks of her and Gilder enjoying concerts, karaoke and home-spa days together on weekends when their children are with their fathers. Now they’re in discussions about filming a reality show about their set-up, with the hope of bringing in more income but also inspiring more mommunes.

“I just fell into this but it’s such an obvious idea,” Batykefer says. “Women have always helped women. Let’s make it even easier for them.”

[dolphin1812]

Fauchelevent continues to be so entertaining.

I love how he’s so adamant on slipping his “brother” into everything here. Mother Innocente is clearly absorbed in her own issues, but he’s doing all he can to promote him. Admittedly, the tropes he relies on to do this (patriarchal attitudes about women and racism) are repulsive, but it’s funny how Mother Innocente is easing him into doing something illegal for the convent while the entire time, Fauchelevent is saying: “you know who could do this better? My brother, who’s stronger than everyone here!” (He’s not exaggerating, but it’s hilarious). And he succeeds! Valjean and Cosette are now allowed to enter! He put his social deftness to great use here, even if he almost slipped up with the “more often.”

The political currents at play are fascinating as well. As a nun, it’s not surprising that Mother Innocente is likely a royalist (hence “Buonaparte” rather than “Bonaparte”). Yet Fauchelevent, as a peasant (albeit one with some education, since he was also a notary) not only has opinions on this matter (being a bit of a Bonapartist), but has enough familiarity with this discourse to alter his word choice to appeal to the nun. “Emperor” may be his first choice, but he knows to use “Buonaparte” here, suggesting that political allegiances were not only common across class boundaries, but that different political discourses were equally well-known. There may be limits to this (perhaps someone who was illiterate would not have so much knowledge of political language, for instance), but it still underscores the deep impacts France’s political turmoil had on multiple groups. 

We also see how changes in the bureaucracy have affected the convent with the turmoil over this burial. One of the convent’s privileges was to bury its nuns underneath it so that their bodies would bless it. Now, such a practice is illegal, with officials in sanitation and other public affairs scrutinizing how the convent buries its dead. Mother Innocente appeals to a higher spiritual authority (the state on earth cannot compete with God) and cites historical examples of such a conflict, stressing tradition and the centrality of the Divine. However, these figures didn’t face the exact same dilemma not because there were never conflicts over the role of the state and of God, but because these agencies were relatively new. Fauchelevent isn’t disagreeing with her, really (beyond saying that Valjean could do it better than he could), but the way her perspective reflects on politics is intriguing:

“By order of the king signifies to-day, by order of the revolution. One no longer knows what is due to the living or to the dead. A holy death is prohibited. Burial is a civil matter. This is horrible.”

She’s justified in pointing out that France’s social order has changed dramatically, leading to uncertainty over how people should be treated (that uncertainty can be productive - Hugo’s in favor of social change - but it is complicated nonetheless). No one knowing what “is due to the living” is, in a way, one of the central issues of this novel, with questions over how people should treat each other (the themes of compassion and love) appearing alongside the obligations people have to others as a society (how to help the misérables). The “dead” she mentions here is a nun, but Fantine’s burial demonstrated the same issue in a different way: no one knew what was “due” to her because she was poor, and without a powerful figure directly dictating how she should be buried, the process was no longer seen as important. 

Her issue, though, is specifically the shift of death from the domain of religion and the Church to the state (as a “civil matter”) as it tried to better organize lives and matters relating to health. Miasma was a popular medical theory back then, so it’s possible that they feared leaving bodies underneath the Church would expose people to bad odors and make them ill. As the Revolution and the growth of the state’s power brought the Church under scrutiny, this may have simply been one other domain where policy changed, with medical thought now taking precedence over the spiritual. 

It’s also interesting that this appears here given that cholera - a major public health crisis in the 19th century - will show up later on. We’re made to engage with this theme relatively early in the novel as a site of contention between different social orders (in this case, the Church and the state). It’ll be fascinating to see where it goes from here.

[penig]

Though A Christmas Carol is one of my all-time favorite books, there’s no denying that the scene of Belle’s happy post-Scrooge domestic life is uncomfortable for me in a couple of ways; but I can deal, because I grew up with that and I believe I understand those ways.

In modern tumblr parlance, this scene is highly heteronormative, and the narrator’s digression about Belle’s daughter is, um, kinda creepy. If you’re put off by those things, I don’t blame you.

But the first thing you need to understand here is, that a lot of this scene is about all the great sex Scrooge isn’t having. That man is a virgin, too mean to get married and too cheap to pay for it. And Dickens, who loved sex and wasn’t allowed to speak of it directly, wants to be sure we understand that. He’s not telling us that a Big Noisy Happy Family is the Height of Happiness for everyone, he’s showing us the result of a healthy married sex life in a financially secure household when birth control isn’t an option.

There’s no ostentatious wealth here, but there’s no pinch of tight budgeting, either. Everyone is well-fed, well-clothed, and bursting with energy. The kids feel safe and loved. They are rambunctious because they are healthy and it’s an exciting occasion, but the only dismay in the scene stems from universal concern for the baby, not from sibling rivalry or bad temper. There’s enough spare money for enough toys to go around. No indications in the room of any recent illness or bereavement. The daughter old enough to sit up with her parents is not faking anything or having to play mother because Belle is incapacitated by producing these children; and the mood does not shift when the children leave the room - no one is fronting for their sake. Belle and her husband love each other enough to make love regularly, a large family has resulted, and they have enough good sense and good fortune that this is not a hardship. This is the best possible outcome, given that opting out of children or voluntarily limiting family size without limiting sexual congress was not a realistic option for most heterosexual couples in this place at this time.

The narrator’s desire to get in there with the kids romping with Belle Jr.  is a pretty good sample of Dickens’s idealized sexualization of young women, which for what it’s worth seems to have been more or less normal in the culture. (Doesn’t mean you or I have to like it or leave it unquestioned.) If she knew about it, there is a chance she would take it as a compliment and that her mother would only track it and put the narrator on notice about where the boundaries are, not summarily throw him out as a modern mother might be inclined to. It’s a very skin-hungry passage, and reflects the fact that female children become off-limits physically when they hit puberty and that this is, in fact, unfortunate, because people need to touch each other. We are too sensitized to the reality that any random guy could be a predator to give much play to the notion that this sort of attention could be innocent, but Dickens would hardly have been so open about it if he didn’t expect his audience to accept it easily.

And I think it’s important that this passage is entirely the narrator speaking. Scrooge is undoubtedly just as skin hungry as the passage implies, but the role he can’t help envying is the father’s, the trusted absolutely-not-sexual figure who can be leaned against confidingly, hugged and kissed with no question of arousal, and relied upon unquestioningly for protection and support - which he will unquestionably give. Is it an idealized image of fatherhood? Sure, a bit. But it’s not an unachievable or unreasonable one.

When Scrooge froze Belle out, he froze out not only his chance of being loved romantically, domestically, and parentaly - but of loving in those ways, too. No one relies on him for anything; no one trusts him with their safety or their smiles, in any respect, because he has been deliberately avoiding putting himself into a position in which anyone could. He doesn’t love anyone, and of the people he remembers loving, Fan is dead and Belle pities him. He’s been telling himself he doesn’t care about any of that, and he’s just come face to face with the enormity of the lie he’s been repeating all this time.

And his skin? Is starved half to death.

[nym-wibbly]

AI, Oh My

I've been using the generative-AI-free Ellipsus for failing at writing for the past few days. Using it to keeping track of notes about the long fanfics I've been sampling to help me write feedback, too. So far I love it to pieces. I love the clean interface. I love that it's in my browser like Google Docs but isn't Google Docs. It's really nice to create text away from that constant push to incorporate generative-AI into the process somehow. Or to click the annoying, distracting thing that sits in the corner of my vision that wants me to pay for an upgrade to some AI feature I didn't want in the first place, and wouldn't save me time or effort if I did. (Grammarly. Just fucking stop and tell me when I use a comma wrong or double a word, okay?)

I did play with AI writing tools while I was ill last year, mainly to pass the time and get up to date with what all the fuss and controversy was about. I squirted a simple 2000-word fanfic I wrote in the 1990s into each one and played to see what the various tools could do with it. Then I tried to get them to generate a similar piece from scratch using prompts. The whole unethical, 'this model was trained on everything we ever put on AO3, wasn't it?' aspect quickly became glaringly apparent once I introduced the subject of fanfiction - or even just asked a factual question about a character from a TV show. (ChatGPT totally 'ships the Thirteenth Doctor with Yaz, a 'ship which must've been at its peak AO3 output when all that data was hoovered up.)

Sudowrite came the closest to being able to do what I need from an automated writing assistant, which is to help me keep track of a long piece by creating and updating a beat sheet and character profiles as I go, or to generate an accurate set of chapter summaries from a giant dollop of existing text. None of these tools can handle a million word epic without going into a death-spiral of confusion and spouting nonsense. None of them can, yet, follow a lengthy or detailed plot well enough to help me re-remember things when I need to. ChatGPT could manage quite large chunks of text for a while in early 2023, then it went downhill fast, started limiting input hard, and started making shit up instead of summarising what text I fed it. I swear to god that thing got incrementally less useful as it got upgraded and as features were added. Nothing else I've tried even felt remotely useful to a writer of fiction, but getting to know the various options did train me to spot and avoid AI-generated articles at two hundred paces, even just from the title or headline much of the time, which has to be a good thing.

I don't want writing done for me, not ever, but if tech can someday help with the remembering-plot-things and keeping-character-things-organised, that would be spiffing. If I could someday rely on it to go, "Whoa, girl, you just contradicted line 23 of chapter 19 with [insert offending text and line number here], at a level of detail that it'd be unreaonable to expect a beta reader to spot in a spread-out WIP, I'd actually pay a lot of money. I want help managing what I write and coping with my cognitive disabilities so I can keep writing stories that are too big for my brain to hold in one dollop. We ain't there yet, but maybe, one day? If we can ever get past the ethics of training the models on other people's data in the first place, and the environmental impact of using these tools at all?

Sudowrite is nowhere near being able to do this for a long story, yet. And the free version is plenty if I just want a quck summary of the story's vibe, tropes, or themes for reference. That I do find useful for clarity, because condensing ideas and summarising fiction is not something I'm good at doing myself. I think Sudowrite might, eventually, be able to help me understand how I write.

So far, so underwhelmed.