#barrister age

[hellenhighwater]

Okay fellow Firefox users I have a minor irritation.

I have a dumb tv-- really just giant wall mounted monitor, which I won a a barristers' ball years ago and refuse to replace. I used to just chrome cast to it, because it's got a little chrome cast dongle plugged in. I switched to Firefox ages ago but I'm still stuck using a chrome browser to cast because my Firefox appears to have no option to do so

What incredibly obvious solution am i missing here. This shames me

[starrysaturdays]

28th august fic rec!

happy august!!!

touch me baby, put your lips on mine (12K) by InsightfulInsomniac | @insightfulinsomniac

When Niall and Zayn invite Louis to a monthly sex party, Louis reluctantly agrees because he’s always up to try something new. At the party, each attendee selects a cup based on a color that corresponds with their power dynamic preference — dom, sub, switch, or none.

Louis decides to lean into the preferences he hasn’t had the chance to explore before, but what he doesn’t expect is to meet the prettiest boy in a blue bandana, blue nail polish, and holding a blue cup.

He expects even less to make a genuine connection that keeps him coming back each month.

Aka the soft and sweet sex party fic with a dash of dom/sub dynamics and a LOT of public sex.

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Get Him Back (17K) by softfonds | @softfonds

After finding out his husband was unfaithful, Harry does one thing that makes him feel good again. But it's up in the air if that one thing will stay.

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We're Not Who We Used To Be (7K) by jaerie

Louis comes back to his childhood home and sees an old friend who has changed quite a lot since the last time they saw each other.

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A Night in Hollywood (71K) by Sax246

Louis Tomlinson, aged twenty-six, a world-famous actor, is at the peak of his career. When he is ensured one of the main roles of a queer rom-com, he is thrilled, even more so when he finds out his co-star is none other than the famous Harry Styles, aged twenty-four. Though, Louis quickly comes to realise Harry is only enjoyable on the screen and not in-person.

When the two get caught in a fight by paparazzi at a celebrity party, the media goes crazy, and they are forced into a PR-relationship against their will. But feelings gets tangled around and want overcomes the hatred between them, and soon something new begins to blossom between the two stars.

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Tossing Round Like Coins (25K) by LetTheMusicMoveYou | @letthemusicmoveyou28

the one where Louis is an alpha who does manly alpha things like play professional football and lift weights at the gym, where he meets alpha Harry who wears nail polish and dates other alphas. Louis isn’t put off by Harry’s strange tendencies, more like intrigued. And maybe just maybe, he’s interested

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futile devices (i do love you) (103K) by fckingfreakshow

“You okay there, Curly?” Louis leaned against the counter next to him, eyes dancing.

Harry nodded, “Yup, yup, I’m good. Just, um, like to make sure my resting heart rate is normal, you know? My lo mein was spicy.” God, he really talked some shit.

Louis reached out, pulling Harry’s wrist away and replacing his fingers with his own. Well, now he was fucked. Louis’ fingers were soft, so soft, and causing his heart rate to skyrocket erratically.

Harry was about to force himself to take a step back just as Louis’ fingers twitched. They locked eyes as a thumb brushed over his Adam’s apple and his lungs collapsed altogether when it slowly pressed down. With wide eyes, Harry watched Louis’ flicker to his throat for a split second before it was over, so quickly as if it hadn’t happened. As if he hadn't just put pressure on Harry’s throat.

What. The. Fuck. __

or, the one where harry's mom gets engaged when he's 17 and he's truly, madly, deeply in love with his 23–or 24–year old stepbrother.

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So Much (For) Us (235K) by Niallinjapan2013

It’s 2022, The boys are not friends. Realistically, they all hate each other. None of them are okay. Now, they have an album to make. They should probably talk about it.

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the relentless barrister (10K) by louisplumpyass | @louisplumpyass

Barrister Louis overhears his neighbour making explicit comments about his husband, Professor Harry. Fueled by a mix of anger and protectiveness, Louis decides to confront the neighbour, but not before he passionately reminds Harry who he belongs to.

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drain me (6K) by boyfriendstages | @boyfriendstages

Harry’s obsession with Louis is perfectly normal. Until it’s not.

or, saltburn bathtub scene inspired smut with lots and lots of long buried feelings.

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i love you (it’s ruining my life) (40K) by wildestdreams | @thelavendrhaze

“You’ve been teasing me all night, looking like a fucking dream, and the minute you get me alone, all of that attitude and your games go right out the window, don’t they?” Louis asked, voice low. “Why do you do it?”

Harry grinned, cheeks warm as his palms rested over Louis’ shoulders. “It keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

The alpha watched him closely, gaze dark, while he stroked one hand down Harry’s side before settling over the dip of his waist. “I can never tell with you.”

“Tell what?”

“If you like me or not.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “I’m not supposed to like you. I’m supposed to just want to fuck you.”

or

A situationship AU where Harry is one of the most sought-after omega supermodels in the world and Louis is the alpha lead singer of the indie supergroup, The Rogue. The last thing either of them wants is to fall in love.

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come away with me (99k) by suspendrs | @suspendrs

Louis had such big plans. He wanted so much out of life, and so did Amy. Now Bridget is going to grow up without a mother, and she’s always going to wonder what it would be like if this hadn’t happened. He wonders if she’ll blame him for her mother’s death as she gets older, or if she’ll understand that this is just as painful for Louis as it is for her. Louis doesn’t know how he’s going to raise her on his own, because he’s a fantastic father, yes, but he’s always been the fun parent, and Amy was in charge of the rules. He doesn’t know how to make sure Bridget has everything she needs all the time, doesn’t know how to make her favorite meal or how to do that one braid she loves to have in her hair or how to teach her to be the best person she can be. He doesn’t know how to live without Amy, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Or, Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter's life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help.

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The weekend (163K) by words_of_my_own

They make the bed together, Louis with his clothes on and Harry still naked, and they laugh a bit about it. But Harry is also rather chuffed about the fact that Louis thirstily lingers with his look on his body more often than not.

When Harry is dressed too, he walks up to Louis, where he waits by the door.

“I wanna kiss you. All the time. Is that bad?” He whispers, crowding Louis against the back of the door, leaning in close to his face.

“I don’t care about the answer, just do it already.” Louis whispers back and grabs Harry by his neck and pulls him in.

********************

In a universe where Harry's and Louis' respective relationships are idling - without them fully realising it before - they meet at a swinger weekend.

Louis is an experienced swinger goer, and even though Harry probably is the most attractive guy he's ever wanted to hook up with at a party like this, he's supposed to be just that: another swinger hookup.

Harry has never swinged before and soon finds it slightly hard to distinguish between the want for sexual exploration and the want for one particular guy.

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Unbonded (24K) by jacaranda_bloom | @jacaranda-bloom

Harry is an omega who has been cast out from his pack, Louis is the alpha leader of the pack where Harry finds a new home, Liam is an alpha with heart of gold, and Niall is a cook who can't seem to stop setting himself on fire.

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Surprise/Wonder (116K) by emmli28

“H-hi,” Harry stammered.

“Hi!” the blue eyed man replied while he stood up and walked over towards Harry. “I’m Louis,” he said, reaching out his hand to shake Harry's and Harry took it in his. Once again Harry felt a swirl inside his stomach as he touched the softest hand he’d ever held in his. Louis, Harry thought, that must of course be Liam's friend. What a nice surprise.

Or the one where Harry goes on a cottage trip, with his friends Liam, Niall and Zayn and Liam’s new friend Louis, and gets too nervous around Louis because he’s just too beautiful.

Or the one where Harry is obsessed with Louis’ hands and Louis doesn’t mind at all, and where Harry and Louis fall in love and find themselves in the process.

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satellite (99K)  by suspendrs | @suspendrs

“It’s been three years since I’ve had a proper hot meal,” Louis says finally. “I have no idea where my family is, or if any of them are even still alive. The only reason I’ve been able to keep myself alive for as long as I have is because I keep to myself, stay guarded, stay hidden. It’s the only way I know how to live,” he says.

Harry wants to cry, but he tries to put on a brave face when Louis finally meets his eyes. “You’re safe here. You don’t have to be so guarded around me,” Harry says quietly, earnestly.

 “That’s very sweet of you,” Louis says, putting his fork down. “But yes I do. Especially around you.”

Or, Louis needs a house. Harry offers him a home.

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California Sold (123K) by isthatyoularry | @isthatyoularry

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

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Until (61K) by allwaswell16 | @allwaswell16

Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.

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take me back, take me back (32K) by eynap | @panye

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Niall says. He puts his head between his hands. “How is this happening?”

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Harry says. “I wanted you to figure it out on your own.”

“You think I like Shawn, too?” Niall asks and he’s shocked. “If anyone is supposed to tell me that I’m gay it’s supposed to be my gay best friend!”

Or, Niall invites his new friend Shawn to Zayn and Liam's three-day wedding in Napa Valley, California. He gets way more than he expected.

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Only Angel (5K) by starryhaze | @starryhaze28

“If I’m an angel, what does that make you?” The angel asks.

“A sinner,” Louis answers.

ʚɞ

or the one where Louis is in Japan and stumbles upon a boy wearing angel wings

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as a river flows (surely to the sea) (50K) by honestlylemmejust

Louis is glad there are these obnoxious green disco lights flashing, because he’s pretty sure he’s blushing a lot and he really doesn’t want anyone to notice. It’s not real; it was just a silly misunderstanding. That’s why he didn’t want this to happen, he didn’t want to know what it could be like. But as long as him and Harry don’t kiss he’s fine, even if they’re both slightly tipsy, he will not kiss his best friend.

He’s afraid if he kisses him it might give him something to miss.

(Harry and Louis are good at pretending and it takes them a few tries to realize they never have to pretend when it comes to each other.)

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Peeping (16K) by jacaranda_bloom | @jacaranda-bloom

Louis hates his job as an accountant and desperately wants to be a teacher. Of course, that would mean going back to uni, which he can’t afford if he wants to keep up the mortgage payments on his house. It’s Niall that suggests Louis gets a housemate.

Harry is great around the house, loves cooking and cleaning, and everything is fine, lovely even. That is until Louis locks himself out of the house, and in his attempts to get inside, he stumbles upon Harry wanking to a video of Louis playing footy.

OR Louis has a thing for his housemate, Harry is under the impression that clothing around the house is an optional extra, and neither of them seem to be able to stop wanking long enough to get their shit together and admit their true feelings.

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gorgeous (it makes me so mad) by resurrectdead

Harry’s a coffee barista with nothing really going on for him except for the occasional flirting with, some, particularly hot male customers. But when a new guy starts coming in, he suddenly doesn’t know what to make out of any single situation anymore.

or: Harry is a hot mess. Liam is a brilliant roommate. Niall is a wise lesbian co-worker. Clifford is a good boy. Louis is a bad boy. Circumstances are bizarre.

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if youve made it this far, heres your icecream🍦

stat time!

1,876,165 words read (8% less than last month)

53 fics read (15% less than last month)

46 authors (21% less than last month)

same time next month?

[holdupjack]

The Asylum Pt.1

——————

Pairing: Hermione Ganger x Fem!Reader

AU: Earlier 1900’s & Horror

WARNING: 18+ MINORS DNI/SUGGESTED RÄPE/GORE

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

July 1899

Y/n let out an anxious breath as she looked upon the Brightwood Asylum in the remote location in the north of Ireland.

Woods surrounded the structure, they were all dead and rotted, Y/n couldn't even see a living tree anywhere around her.

A bad omen.

Two horse-drawn buses stood dormant in the vacant lot as Y/n strolled near it, the animals were nowhere to be found. Her eyes shifted across the straps that lay on the ground, they had been cut free intentionally, but why?

It was a long walk to and from, and she should know, no one would take her here in the town a few kilometers/miles away. The feeling of eyes on her as she trudged her way through the woods was very prevalent.

Y/n looked back at the building and noticed it was eerily quiet, which was confusing since this place had bared windows that were always open. People in town had said that they could hear the patients screaming at night after most of the citizens had gone home.

One man she had talked to had said that the shrieks were the most common, but the calling for help from anyone, god, and the devil was the hardest to bear when he was outside past dusk.

Y/n had asked about a new patient that was brought here a few months ago, a woman around her age, that was accused of witchcraft in England.

The man had asked for a picture, to which the young woman quickly dug one out of her coin purse and showed him.

Hermione Granger, her girlfriend.

It had been a dubious trail, a constable had grown quite fond of Hermione since they crossed paths on her way to work in the local factory.

She had turned down his advancements kindly, but that wasn't enough. He had tried to force himself upon her one night, but Hermione was able to get away and run back home to her 'roommate'.

Like clockwork a few days later, she was placed in handcuffs under the suspicion of witchcraft. It turns out that the constable was a very well-liked and influential man, his reach stretched far into the justice system.

When Hermione arrived at the courtroom later that week, she had asked for a barrister to represent her in the trial, to which she soon found out that the officer had blacklisted her from any willing help.

She was completely ostracized.

Before Y/n knew it, her girlfriend was sentenced to life at Brightwood Asylum as a 'willing participant' for their observations.

Y/n was horrified by the letters Hermione would send her before they randomly stopped a month ago.

Her hand snuck into her coat pocket and pulled out the last letter she had received from her girlfriend.

'June 11th, 1899

Dear Y/n,

As you remember in my last letter, I have been hearing rumors from other women in the female ward that an uprising was on the horizon. It wasn't till this morning that my fears were confirmed, a woman named Susan, who suffers from random outbursts of chaotic episodes, came into my room and told me to stay inside tonight. She told me to not come out no matter what I heard or saw and to keep my door locked until another woman came to get me.

Susan kept insisting that I should not open my door to any man or doctor. I'm terrified of what tonight will entail.

If you do not hear from me again, please don't come here looking for answers.

Please Y/n, I need you to stay safe.

I forgot to ask you in my last letter, but didn't the moon look lovely last night?

Patiently waiting for your letters.

- Hermione Granger'

Y/n eyes shifted back onto the seemingly empty asylum as she folded the letter back into her pocket, and sighed,

"I can't just sit in our home and wonder what has happened to you" she whispers as she looks around the lot one last time.

Then she noticed a horse chewing on some grass at the edge of the treeline, at first she thought it was one of the bus horses, but then spotted a constable logo on the blanket under the saddle.

The man's story in town popped into her mind.

"A few weeks ago the screaming just stopped. At first, everyone was relieved! We watched as the day shift was taken up the trail the next morning, but the night shift never came down. That's when we knew something horrible had happened, the chief of police sent a group of men up there that night, and guess what? They haven't returned either."

Y/n shook her head and slowly made her way up to the entrance of the building, the doors rattled as she tried to open them, but it was locked tight.

She raised her knuckles to knock, but hushed whispers seeped through the cracks.

"Someone's at the doors, do you think it's the chief?" a man asks as another scoff in detest.

"No, he's too much of a git to come up here. Too afraid to see the monsters he created" he replied as the voice got closer to the door.

"Who is it." a gruff man asks through the door and Y/n clears her throat to respond clearly.

"My name is Y/n Y/l/n. I've come to check in on my friend, Hermione Granger. I haven't received a letter from her in quite some time, and I am worried" she replies, and it's quiet on the other end for a moment.

"The Asylum is closed until further notice, have the Chief of Police contact us for further orders" he replies, and Y/n furrows her brows in confusion.

"The Chief of Police? What does he have to do with this?" she asks and a sad chuckle comes from behind the door.

"Everything kid...everything."

Y/n paused and began hearing footsteps walk away, which made her panic.

"Wait! Is she okay?" she calls out, and the footsteps stop.

"Who were you looking for again?" a frail man's voice asks, someone different.

"Hermione Granger, she's on the third floor of the woman's ward, room 11B" Y/n replies as she hears the shuffling of paper.

"She is still alive, but please, leave before you get hurt," he says and Y/n shook her head out of pure confusion.

Still alive? Before you get hurt?

What the hell is going on?

"Wait-"

"We must go, I'm sorry"

"Hey! Wait! Tell me what's going on here!" Y/n yells as she pounds on the door, but it is no use, her questions aren't going to get answered with a door between her and the voices.

Y/n backed up into the lot and looked around the front of the building, Hermione had written in one of her letters that her window had a beautiful view of the town, so that must mean her room in the front.

She had said the female ward was on the right, but did she mean facing the building or away?

"Dammit" Y/n sighs as she began walking around the huge facility, looking for a ladder or basement that they might have left open.

"Please be a ladder-please be a ladder-"

Of course, there was no ladder, just a small walk down towards a door marked 'basement' in the back.

"For love" Y/n reminded herself as she slowly stepped down to the door, which she now realized had a bloody handprint smeared on it.

"If that doesn't scream 'walk in here and we'll kill you', then I don't know what does" she whispers with a nervous chuckle as the door opened with ease.

The smell of sulfur was pungent, almost making Y/n double back in disgust as she pressed her wrist to her nose.

"Oh god" she mumbled in horror as she closed the door behind her quietly, the hall had a track on one side, and the words 'MORGUE' with an arrow painted on the wall towards the door she came through.

There was a small building in the back that had a smoke stack coming from its small metal pipe in the roof like a blazing fire was stuck inside.

Y/n wouldn't be surprised if there was a cremator in it, it was the easiest way to hide any evidence of foul play for an Asylum.

Hermione had said that they seemed to be experimenting on any patients which caused a ruckus in the building.

This happened a lot, because there were many people stuck in this building with mental illnesses and disorders we don't understand yet.

Y/n found it horrible what they did to people who just don't understand what they have done wrong. Sometimes she thought the doctors didn't know either

The light flickered above her as she slowly walked down the passageway, a small whisper could be heard as she made her way toward the stairs next to the closed elevator.

It was locked purposely, a chain was wrapped around the door that would usually be pulled back to let someone off. To Y/n's surprise, she found a young man curled up and rocking in the fetal position, in his late teens, he was the whispering she had heard.

"Dr.Matthews doesn't like it when I'm not in my cell-but where is he?-is he sleeping in the supply closet with Nurse Rose again? No. I think he was the next to be-"

Suddenly the man looks up and stares at Y/n, her eyes widening in horror at the missing skin and tissue that is supposed to cover his right cheek. She could see his teeth without him having to open his mouth.

"You're not supposed to be here" he sang as he stood up and got closer to the steel door, Y/n opened her mouth a few times as she stared into his eyes.

"Who locked you in here?" she asked as he fiddled with the name bracelet on his wrist.

It said, Regi Willis.

"Dr.Matthews said he would be back for me, but he never returned yesterday" he mumbled as Y/n looked around the hall, she gazed near the stairs and noticed a dragging trail of blood that led through the broken-down door.

"I saw Willie take him in there, he screamed for so long until he either got away or gave in" Regi states as she looks back at him.

"I'll be right back, let me see if he dropped the key nearby" she whispers as he just nods and stares at his feet.

Y/n slowly followed the trail that no one should ever purposely investigate, but she just can't leave him to die in an elevator.

Slowly she poked her head into the dimly lit stairway and shut her eyes immediately at the sight she saw.

Presumably, Dr.Matthews lay on his stomach against the stairs. His pants and undergarments had been forcibly ripped away, and it wouldn't take a genius to put together what had happened to him. Dried blood trails had left paths down the back of his legs.

"Oh god..." Y/n whispered as she opened her eyes again and slowly walked over to what was left of his pants, which lay next to his body.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she searched for the key, hoping to save at least more than one person from this god-forsaken place.

"Help me" a horse voice whispers next to her, causing Y/n to stumble away, looking at what she thought was a dead body. His eyes were barely open, and his lips were cracked from lack of hydration.

"Dr.Matthews?" Y/n whispers as a tear falls from the corner of his eye onto the wooden stairs.

"Please help me," he said again, and Y/n nodded quickly.

"I am, I've come for my friend, but I'll have this place swarming with help soon" she replies as he begins to sob, either in relief that this nightmare was almost over or the fact that it would still be a while before any help came.

Y/n wasn't sure.

"He broke my spine, I can't move" Dr.Matthews whispers as Y/n quickly searches through his pants pocket, and finds the key.

"Regi might be able to help, let me go unlock him," Y/n says and the doctor sighs in relief.

"He's okay? Thank god" he states as Y/n quickly runs towards the elevator.

"Regi? Dr.Matthews needs your help. Do you think you can carry him to the town hospital?" Y/n asks as she finds him still standing where she left him.

"Yes. Dr.Matthews is my friend! He saved me from the room with the lightning" he replies as the Y/n shoved the key in the lock and watched as the chain fell to the ground.

As she opened the door, Regi quickly stepped out and walked toward the stairway, Y/n followed after and stuffed the key in her pants pocket.

"Hi, Dr.Matthews" Regi whispered as he stood at the doorway, biting his nails, the doctor let out a soft chuckle and sighed happily.

"Hi Regi, are you alright?" he asks as Y/n takes off her coat and places it around the man's lower region.

"I'm okay, are you okay?" he asked as he stepped closer and watched the young woman slowly flip the doctor onto his back.

"No, I'm not" he replies calmly, almost like he wasn't just desperately asking for help earlier.

"Regi, I need you to carry Dr.Matthews to town. He'll be able to get help and save some more of your friends in here." Y/n says as the young boy nods and begins to take the older man into his arms.

"You're my friend now, right?" he asked and Y/n smiled at the boy.

"Of course Regi, my name is Y/n" she replies as the boy smiles back, looking happy that she had agreed to be his friend.

"I have four friends now Dr.Matthews," he says happily, to which the older man smiled.

"That's wonderful Regi, maybe we could all get together and eat dinner after all of this?" he asks and the boy grinned, his loose skin stretching around his exposed teeth.

Even in tremendous pain, the doctor still cared about his patients more than anything.

"Oh Y/n, take this key in my front pocket before we depart" the doctor states as she quickly pulls out a silver skeleton key from his shirt pocket.

"This will unlock most doors in the facility," he says as his eyes meet hers.

"Will it open the cells?" she asks and his eyebrows flew up in surprise.

"No, why would you want to do that?" he asks and Y/n lets out a breath.

"My...friend is here, and she's not supposed to be" Y/n whispers as she averted her gaze.

"Who is it?" Regi asks as he taps his fingers on Dr.Mathews's side in an unknown rhythm, she quickly looks back at him with a smile.

"Hermione Granger, she's on the third floor" she replies as his smile resurfaces like an empty water bottle that had been held underwater.

"She's my friend too, she gives me her pudding at lunch" he stated as Y/n chuckled, and slowly escorted them back into the hall.

"That sounds like her, I bet she'd love it if all of us got together" Y/n states as points to the door at the end of the corridor. Maybe it was just to calm the boy's mind, or maybe it was to calm her own, but these promises did sound nice. Especially in the place she has not even been in for half an hour.

"Go out that door and follow the road back to town, Dr.Matthews will get help and hopefully get this mess handled," Y/n says as Regi nods as the doctor begins to speak to him in a quiet voice, something about getting him some honey-covered fruit. She watched the boy shuffle off to the door at the end of the long hallway, noticing the way his body shifted from side to side with each step.

Once she heard the door creak open and slam shut again, a sudden feeling of isolation took over Y/n's body. Feeling the way the air on her body stood at attention in the dim lighting, the distant songs of yelling and footsteps made it even more uncomfortable for her.

Her eyes slowly turned toward the stairs case, a beat of sweat across her forehead as she took a deep breath. One foot in front of the other. That's it. Just take it slow.

Each step up the stairs was quiet and calculated. All she had to do was sneak up to the third floor, get through the male ward, across the lobby, and into the female ward.

Easier said than done.

Once she made it to the main floor, she could hear the men from the front door were bickering to each other. Y/n slowly peeked her head around the corner, seeing their silhouettes dancing against the wall.

"Are you sure Willie has been secured back in his cell? God, did you see what he did to Dr.Matthews? It wasn't supposed to be like this man, we were only trying to get better care, but the-" the frail voice was cut off by the more dominant one, who silenced him with a simple wave us his hand.

"Yes, that monster is back in his secured cell, and speaking of Doctor Matthews, why don't you put him in the incinerator out back?" he responded and Y/n's eyes widened in fear. What the hell is going to happen when they realize he's gone?

"Incinerator? Do you hear yourself? That man may have been a whore, but at least he was kind-" he was cut off again.

"Don't you get it, Bernie? If the Chief finds out that we let one of our hostages get assaulted to death, don't you think he'll have us lined up against the wall?! This is life or death for us, so do as you're told! And kill Regi! His yapping mouth will give us away for sure!" The gruff man yelled as Y/n saw one of the shadows move quickly, which caused her to throw caution to the window and run up the next flight of stairs.

Y/n found the second floor to be completely pitch black, even the emergency lights were busted out. She squinted her eyes in the darkness before shaking her head and taking her chances to sneak up to the third floor. This time she was much quieter again, her head peaking over the railing to see a figure walking down to the basement.

She didn't have time, and a hiding place was the best option at the moment. Y/n took a small breath before finally making it to the fully lit third floor.

"Mark! Mark! Dr.Matthews is gone!" A voice rang out before Y/n felt the hairs stand up even taller, her body subconsciously moved into the empty hallway before quietly fitting under the nurse's station desk. Her heart pounded like someone was squeezing clay between their fingers and letting go.

She pulled in a chair to cover herself better on the exposed side of the desk. Y/n could hear the sound of footsteps running up and down the stairwell. Panicked voices repeating questions or not even getting them answered.

"Someone's here! Someone has to be here! Who would have let Regi out of the elevator? Dr.Matthews was dead! Or at least at its doorstep!" The man, apparently named Mark, says. The other one, Bernie, was mumbling incoherent prayers, almost like he was on the verge of tears.

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat as she heard the footsteps get closer, slowly coming up the stairwell and into the hallway. Then it was quiet, a few sniffles from Bernie passed by until a deep breath was let out.

"That kid from the door...what was her name?" Mark asks almost directly in front of the nurse's station. Y/n covered her mouth to stifle the loud breathing that tried to escape her as her heart pounded like a drum circle.

"Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n" Bernie responded as he took a deep breath as well, but much shakier than Marks. Then there was silence again.

"She had said that Hermione was the reason she was here" Mark hummed as his footsteps slowly walked toward the other end of the hallway, back toward the stairs. Y/n wanted to move, but the chair was in her way, and she's screwed if it scrapped on the ground or slammed into something else.

All she had to do was wait.

"Look for her, now"

This might take a while.

[nikethestatue]

Breed Me

Happy Valentine's Day!

A little one shot of pure smuttiness for all of you to enjoy today. Also, blame @tswaney17 for this! She sent me a video in IG of a pink cookie being decorated with the words 'Breed Me'. She said 'Elriel'. I said 'I have to write this'. So here you are.

This is an Elriel and Nessian smut

(Generally speaking a bonus set in the world of A Match Baked In Heave, but is a standalone)

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckety fuck fuck.

She knew it. She just knew it. She knew that she’d forget. And she did. She even forgot to set the reminder not to forget.

Valentine’s Day.

Their first Valentine’s Day together. 

The only excuse she managed to come up with was that they’ve been together for almost a year now. They began properly dating right around the last V Day, and therefore, it’s been some time and Nesta was allowed to forget. Or so she told herself. But she was the worst girlfriend ever. She didn’t even have a card for him!

The problem was that Nesta Archeron, barrister extraordinaire, successful, beautiful, admired, and well-put together always, did not possess a romantic bone in her body. Romance just wasn’t how she operated. Nesta liked to go to Michelin starred restaurants, she enjoyed good wines, she adored interesting trips, and she got emotional when walking down the streets of Florence overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and history of the place. But romantic, she was not. At least, not in the sense that people came to expect someone to express their romantic side–chocolates, flowers, jewellery, horrid chocolate lava cakes and even more terrifying public marriage proposals with the ring being dropped to the bottom of a champagne flute. If her boyfriend Cassian ever did that to her, she’d break up with him. Though that wasn’t exactly his style–he’d probably propose on a mountain peak, or looking out at some terrifying squall, or, if she were lucky, at night, on the streets of Florence, when no one was looking and it was the two of them.

But, enough about proposals and romantic gestures. 

She’d leave that to her sister Elain. Her other sister, Feyre, had an even less romantic attitude than Nesta, if that was even possible. Feyre was hopeless in the romance department. Good thing her husband Rhysand was romantic enough for the two of them, and then some. If Rhys could gift Feyre the Moon on a string, he would. 

That left Elain. The only one who was a romantic at heart, and per Feyre ‘romantic on steroids’ who adored V Day and began prepping for it in advance, the way others prepared for Christmas. 

Nesta never enquired about Elain’s Valentine’s Day plans, because she was frankly, a bit scared. Though the Archeron girls were all girls, and close in age, they weren’t the types to discuss their sex lives with each other. They weren’t the types to change clothes in front of one another, and Nesta couldn’t remember when she saw any of her sisters naked. That’s just how they were. And Nesta preferred to keep it that way.

But today, she was desperate. And she was close to Elain’s house. 

Unannounced pop-ins weren’t a thing that the sisters did either, but Nesta was always close to Elain and now, she hoped that Elain wouldn’t mind it. Besides, it was only 2 pm. What could Elain possibly be doing?

Just in case, though, Nesta sent a warning text “I am in the neighbourhood. And need to stop by. Are you decent?”

The last part would’ve seemed like an overkill, but it wasn’t. Because Elain, and her husband Azriel, were known to get it on frequently and at any time of day or night. Nesta had to get her eyes bleached by now, considering how many times she either overheard them or walked in on them. Azriel was a damn exhibitionist, who loved semi-public sex, and what’s more, the man’s had some peculiar interests, which made being in their company a veritable minefield of strange sexual encounters. Elain…well, she was in love. She was love-drunk, dick-drunk, and sex-drunk most of the time. 

Nesta hurried down the street, before rushing up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. True to Elain’s character, the white columns beneath the awning were decorated with pink, white and red roses. Love was in the air.

Nesta banged on the door and heard ‘it’s open!’

She entered the foyer, toed off her boots and almost ran to the open concept first floor kitchen and sitting room. 

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” her sister asked, worry etched on her pretty face.

Elain was wearing a pink dress with red flowers and a wide pink headband, which struggled to contain waves of her thick curls. The dress accentuated her growing stomach, which was just beginning to round and pop at 4.5 months. Of course, Elain made the prettiest pregnant woman in the world. Shiny hair, sparkling eyes, clear skin, a wide smile, gorgeous boobs, no weight gain other than in her stomach, and the most perfect pregnancy–no violent sickness, explosive vomiting, sickening cravings or swollen ankles for the middle Archeron sister. 

“I am brilliant!” Nesta put on a fake smile. “Just need a few ideas,”

Elain eyed her with a disapproving look and then said, 

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Ummm, forgot what?” Neta decided to play stupid.

“Don’t play stupid,” her sister snapped. “You forgot about Valentine’s Day and now Cassian doesn’t have a gift, does he?”

Nesta plopped on the stool by the marble bar and announced with pretend excitement,

“No. But that’s where you come in!”

“Oh, is that so?” rolled her eyes and then picked up a pastry bag, and curled over the counter. “Am I expected to get your boyfriend a Valentine’s Day gift?”

“No, no, no,” Nesta assured her breezily. “Nothing like that. Just…ideas. Give me some ideas. I will execute!”

Elain thought for a second, absorbed in whatever she was doing with that pastry bag, and then explained,

“Men don't care about presents. Not for this type of holiday,”

“They don’t?”

“No! Cass doesn’t want a box of chocolates!” she laughed. “He’d just have to work it out longer at the gym.”

“So then…?” Nesta’s voice trailed as her brows knitted in confusion.

“You are hopeless!” Elain sighed. “Romance. Seduction. That’s what he wants. Seduce him…”

“O-kay…As in?”

“I have to teach you how to seduce a man?” Elain demanded.

“I don’t need to seduce him. He is already seduced!”

“Expand your repertoire,” Elain all but ignored Nesta’s reasoning. “Do something you don't normally do,”

“What, whips and chains?”

“Why must you go that far? Unless you want to be chained and whipped?” 

“No thanks.”

Nesta knew for a fact that that was more of an Elain and Azriel thing.

“Then what?” she asked again.

“What about sending him a sexy video?” Elain proposed. 

“I am not sending nudes,” Nesta stated firmly. “If that ever gets out,”

“You think he is going to share your nudes?”

“Phones get hacked. Next idea?”

Elain sighed and then leaned back against the fridge, and crossed her arms on her chest.

“Have you tried introducing some whipped cream? Strawberries?”

“I don’t like mixing sex with food,” Nesta told her.

“Oh god. Well, what do you like?”

“My choices are nudes or rolling around in greasy sheets?” Nesta demanded crossly. 

“Play a game,”

“What kind of game?”

“Like a sex game. You tell him one of your desires, and he tells you one of his, and you both do it,” Elain proposed.

Nesta chewed on her lips, thinking about it. It wasn’t a terrible idea.

“What else?”

“Try having sex in an unusual place,” Elain suggested. “Not in bed or a shower. But somewhere you don’t usually do it in,”

“Hmmm. Okay.”

This was giving Nesta ideas.

“We have a book,” Elain began but Nesta shook her head, 

“No. Please no. I don’t want real-life examples from your sex escapades!!!”

“All I wanted to say,” Elain pouted, “was that if you have a sexy book or a magazine, you can open it to a random page and act out whatever is there…”

“Oh. Hmmm. That’s not bad. You’ve done that?”

“You just said no real-life examples!” Elain reminded her dryly.

“Yeah, true.”

Giving her a meaningful look of pure judgement, Elain added, “wouldn’t hurt if you dressed in something other than your smart clothes and your suits.”

“Lingerie?”

“It’s been known to help.”

In the next moment, Nesta exclaimed, “Oh my god, what is that!?!? Elain?!”

Elain glanced at the MASSIVE bouquet of pale pastel flowers that Azriel had given her earlier today. It wasn’t unusual that Azriel would give her flowers, so she didn’t quite understand Nesta’s reaction. 

But Nesta was staring, wild-eyed, at what Elain was doing, and she saw a whole array of sugar biscuits, which were already shiny with icing, and upon which Elain was writing.

Writing such as:

Lick Me

I Lick You

Butt Play

Toys

Anal

Reverse Cowgirl

Pearl Necklace

Blindfold

Breed Me

Outside

Car BJ

69

And many others, which Nesta couldn’t even make out.

“What the hell is this?!” she cried out.

Elain began to scramble pathetically, trying to turn the biscuits over, but it was too late. Nesta’s seen enough. 

“Elain! What the heck are you two up to?”

“Okay, whatever,” Elain was redder than the icing on the bakes. “It’s a game, okay? We are going to play a game too!”

“What kind of game is this?!”

“I think it’s obvious,” Elain hissed. 

“Not really…”

“My god,” she rolled her eyes and threw her head back dramatically. “It’s a very simple game, Nesta. There is a platter of biscuits–you select one or two, and read what it says. Then you do it.”

Nesta’s eyes bugged out,

“So you are going to do anal?!?! Or a car BJ!?”

“I don’t know!!!!!!!!!!!” Elain screeched, all flustered and red. “Maybe! Maybe we’ll do anal,”

“You are pregnant,”

“You can have anal when you are pregnant. Also, I am not discussing this with you anymore. I’ve given you ideas. That’s it!” she stomped her foot. 

Before the conversation could escalate even further and end up in a potential screaming match, the front door opened and Azriel’s deep, highly masculine and unabashedly sexual voice announced,

“Two jacket potatoes, coming up. Baby, I hope you are naked, because I am fucking gearing up to eat your pussy like a bulldog eats cereal.

“Also, they made me run three sprints today–though I told him that I am an old man with a wonky knee–but per your request, I am still sweaty. So have your way with me, lick it up.”

Nesta made a gagging noise deep inside her chest.

“We are not alone!” Elain screamed frantically.

“Who are we with? The dogs don’t count.”

Elain and Azriel had four dogs. The oldest, who was Elain’s originally, and then he had three sons–Benny, Churchy and John Boy–whom Elain and Azriel also kept. So, the dad and the three sons ran around together, and caused mischief and were four of the cutest dog potatoes ever.

When Azriel stepped inside, holding–by the looks of it–Churchy and Benny in each arm, both of them were dressed in red sweaters, it dawned on Nesta what he meant by ‘jacket potatoes’. Because it was kind of unbelievable that Elain and Azriel would dine on jacket potatoes for Valentine’s Day. Nevermind that Azriel was planning on dining on something else entirely.

“Oh, Nesta,” he muttered, without an ounce of excitement.

“Don’t worry, I am just leaving,” she got up from her seat, scowling. “I don’t need to be hearing about all your perversions,”

“Perversions?” Azriel smirked. “Judgey much?”

Elain was still squirming from embarrassment, but Azriel didn’t seem to care that his sister-in-law became privy to some seriously serious sex talk.

“The boys are knackered,” he announced, dumping the two pugs into their beds. They didn’t even wake up. Both were outfitted with heart-shaped headbands, and red jumpers with white hearts. 

“Nesta, something you need?” he asked, “or,”

“Definitely not! The last thing I need to see is my sister licking your sweat or whatever the fuck you implied she was going to do to you.”

He laughed, while Elain buried her face in her hands.

Azriel was abnormally handsome–in a way that was almost unnatural, and his handsomeness allowed him to get away with a lot of nonsense. 

“Let me guess, you forgot it was V Day and didn’t get my brother anything,” he suggested, stepping behind Elain and wrapping his arms around her.

“Ha! Not even close!” Nesta lied. 

“All right then.” Azriel clearly didn’t believe her. “Then off you go, ice princess. I need to fuck my wife.”

“Az!” Elain moaned helplessly, while Azriel turned her around and cupped her face in his hands.

“What?” he smiled, while his tongue traced a line against her lips. “Let’s make Nessie so uncomfortable, she’ll run out screaming!”

“Already there,” Nesta hissed. 

With Elain’s back to her and Azriel occupied with the kiss, Nesta quickly swiped a bunch of biscuits from the counter and dropped them in her bag. She can play the game too!

“Bye, you degenerates!” she cried out, and ran out, hearing Elain’s soft ‘byeeee’ on the way out. 

-

Nesta and Cassian

“Happy Valentine’s Day, handsome,” Nesta cooed. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Any game you want, sweetheart,” Cassian offered, his voice thick and husky, “I’ll even lose, if you’d like me to,” he promised. His normally bright hazel eyes were dark and satiny, glistening with want and lascivious desire, as they skimmed over Nesta’s stunning lushness, presented to him in all its glory.

She greeted him in their kitchen, when he stomped inside like a big bear, dripping with February rain. He sure didn’t expect to find her there–wrapped up like the perfect candy box of Valentine’s chocolates for him to unwrap. Truthfully, he thought that she’d forgotten about it today–this holiday wasn’t her jam. But, oh how wrong he was. 

Nesta was splayed on the white quartz countertop, dressed in nothing but blood-red silky lingerie, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The panties were little more than a piece of tissue paper, covering literally nothing, and the bra, which was tasked with containing Nesta’s lavish cleavage, was hardly anything more. 

The bra was held together by an innocent looking rose, which nestled at the juncture of her soft, plush tits. While the same rose was attached to the top of the panties, just below her belly button. 

“Well, that won’t be necessary,” Nesta assured him breezily, slowly, but intentionally crossing one long leg over the other. To complete the festive look, she wore gravity-defying red Louboutin heels. “I think we can both be winners in this game.”

She slowly walked her manicured fingers down the countertop, to an assortment of heart-shaped biscuits which were laid out in a…heart shape. 

Cassian was a bit shocked. Not just from watching the gorgeous body and the spectacular set that she was wearing, but also from all this wild Valentine-ism that she went out of her way to do. He wasn’t expecting it. This was more of an Elain thing to do.

But he’d lost his ability to speak anyway, so it was a moot point. He was trying to wrap his mind around everything that he was seeing. There were only harsh, primal sounds coming from his gut. Very caveman-like. 

“Pick a biscuit,” Nesta offered, tapping her finger next to each one.

Cassian shucked off his sodden jacket and his brogues, tossing his suit coat on the floor, uncaring. Slowly, like a lion stalking a lioness in the wild, he approached Nesta, trying to appear unaffected.

“What do we have here?” he finally managed to ask, licking his lower lip slowly. Nesta tracked the movement and shifted her body, so that her breasts almost spilled out of the flimsy bra cups, her nipples straining against the transparent lace. 

“A gift for you,” she offered, batting her lashes at him.

“And what will it say?” he pondered, slowly untying the topknot of his long, black hair. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted innocently. “But whatever you pick, you get to do to me…How does that sound?”

“Sounds like I am up to the challenge,” he promised, watching her bite her lower lip. 

His cock stirred within his trousers, while he watched her full lips glisten with a smear of bright red gloss. What a trail it would leave on his cock. The thought alone made him harder. 

Absently, he picked up one of the biscuits and then turned it, to see the message.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, cocking his brow.

Nesta craned her neck to sneak a peek, but he tsked and shook his head. 

“No, no, Miss Archeron, a deal is a deal. Whatever it says, I will do.”

“But what does it say?”

“Something very interesting, and something I am very in the mood to do,” he told her and then slipped the biscuit in his back pocket.

She pouted, but it didn’t last long, because Cassian leaned over her and kissed her. Grasping her slim wrist in his huge hand, he brought it firmly to the swell of his cock. 

“Must have been an interesting message,” she murmured into his mouth, but he wrapped his lips over her soft, pouty mouth and pried the sticky red lips apart with his tongue. Her thin fingers groped his dick firmly, just like he liked it, and a satisfied moan slipped from his lips, landing on Nesta’s tongue. She still sprawled on the counter, but despite the awkward position, Cassian put his big, warm hands on her thighs, travelling slowly over her soft skin toward the gossamer coverage of her panties, until his thumbs traced the warm wet slit beneath the material. 

Nesta moaned into his cheek, biting the skin on his jaw, as she squeezed his shaft harder, working it over with her expert hand. She smelled incredible, her expensive Chanel perfume tickling his nose, as he inhaled deeply, while thrusting his palms under her ass cheeks and palming her hard. He caressed her tongue with his, opening her further up to his kiss, kneading the soft bare skin of her behind. She breathed hotly into his mouth, letting go of his cock and winding her arms around his neck. The loss of her hand on his erection was tragic, but that also allowed Cassian to pull her to him, making her grand tits press into his chest and the warmth of her pussy into his dick. She rubbed against him impatiently, murmuring ‘sorry for ruining your trousers’ to which he replied, ‘feel free to ruin all of me, sweetheart’. 

She nodded, her long leg wrapping around his calves and pulling him even closer. The lips of her pussy stretched around the base of his erection, and she ground on him firmly and confidently.

“What’s my present for V day?” she teased, stroking his long hair and the back of his neck.

“Also a fun game,” he said, dragging his tongue over her mouth, kissing her lazily and with obscene sort of tenderness, indulging in her scent and her taste.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A version of whack-a-mole.”

“Are you the mole?” she queried.

“I am the whacker and the mole,” Cassian told her confidently.

-

Azriel and Elain

“Where was I?” Azriel murmured, watching Elain’s arched body in front of him. “Oh yes,” he remembered, “spreading your legs…”

He was behind her, his scarred palm rough on her hip, as he parted her thighs further. She was panting loudly, and he smiled, caressing her hair lovingly, “my little pillow-biter”.

“Mmm,” was all Elain managed, while the head of his hot, heavy, hefty cock prodded at her entrance, but he didn’t push inside. Instead, his hand slipped under her and stroked her round belly, while he whispered, “he good?”

She nodded yes. “He is good.”

“Ask for my cock, wife,” he then ordered. 

She wiggled her round ass against his groin, the underside of his hard cock landing between her butt cheeks, but didn’t do as he asked. 

He tsked and then slapped the heavy pole over her folds, making her gasp and clutch the sheets harder in her hands.

“Be a good girl, and ask,” he encouraged her, but she shook her head, stifling another moan when he smacked his cock over her pussy. 

“Oh god,” was all she managed, because while it hurt, it also felt so good.

“I am waiting,” he sang, gripping her breasts in his hands and painfully twisting her nipples. 

“Mmm–nooo,” she argued like a brat, shaking her head stubbornly.

Azriel sighed and contemplated for a moment, as he casually fondled her tits, half-seated on her hips. 

“Last chance, beautiful. Ask for my dick,” he told her.

She shook her head and remained silent. 

The thrill of punishment made her even hornier, as she didn’t know what he was going to do.

Flipping her over on her back, he kneeled on one knee over her and cupped his balls in his hand, lazily stroking his shaft. When she made to touch it, he said, “nope. You didn't ask for my cock like a good wife should. Now you are not getting it until I am ready to give it to you,”

He traced his lips with his thumb, while still rubbing his shaft, smearing precum over it, before sliding down and straddling her chest. Gathering her heavy breasts in his hands, he then spit on his dick and firmly pushed her breasts together. “Get ready, sweetness,” he warned, before thrusting his thick cock inside her cleavage. “Now, you are going to take my cock like my good girl, swallow nice and deep, while I fuck your pretty titites,” he instructed, pumping slowly between her breasts. “Tongue out,” he ordered, and Elain stuck her tongue out for him. The smooth head of his cock immediately landed on it, and she burrowed the tip into the sexy little slit, licking on it, tasting him. “That’s a good girl,” he approved, smiling down at her, as he quickly fluffed a pillow behind her head, so that the angle was just right. He squeezed her breasts even harder, and she gasped, especially when he tweaked her nipples, but he didn’t stop thrusting steadily, his movements precise and firm, so that the head of his cock remained inside her mouth for her to lick and suck on. 

“Eye contact at all times, my love,” he reminded her, smiling at her, before pushing deeper in her mouth. Elain watched him obediently, her mouth full of him, her lips stretched around the thickness of the shaft, as she panted loudly around him. He jiggled her tits playfully, keeping them wrapped around his base and his balls. “Now you’ll have my cock in your mouth for as long as I want, naughty girl,” he pinched her nipples, “start sucking, baby.”

Elain submitted, immobilised beneath his weight, sucking scrupulously and hard, as she watched him like he wanted. 

She wanted to be here too, in this place, in his position. She enjoyed being dominated, and Azriel dominated her well. She didn’t crave pain, though when he spanked her, or choked her, or slapped her with his dick, she loved it, but she needed to submit to his desires. She loved taking his cock any way he told her to, loved to serve him in bed, loved to give up control. 

So she sucked sloppily, while he pumped her tits and worked his heavy balls up and down her chest. 

“Is that good, pretty girl?” he asked. 

She nodded, gasping for breath when he pushed his cock deeper. He didn’t stop, and pressed further, whispering “choke on it, beautiful. Come on!”

She sputtered and choked, her eyes pleading with him silently, as tears ran down her cheeks, but he shook his head. 

“No. Swallow. And choke,” he ordered. “Open up. Wider,” and as she did, he plunged further, into her already trained throat. 

After they got married, for three months all she did was suck his cock multiple times a day, learning how to train her gag reflex, learning how to truly suck dick, falling in love with it. 

He released her tits from his grip, and she noticed the blossoming of bruises on her skin, while he propped himself on his arms, before starting  to fuck her mouth greedily and obscenely.

Elain relaxed under the onslaught of his expertly delivered thrusting in her mouth and while he still choked her, she was also enjoying herself. She loved her husband more than it was rational or describable. Azriel fulfilled every dream, every hope, every desire, every need that she had.

Elian hummed against the hard, hot pole in her mouth, which made Azriel feel drunk, particularly when the sound reverberated in her throat, tickling the head of his shaft. He lovingly brushed his thumb over her cheek, watching her bob up and down and meeting every push of his shaft. The noises that she was making–sloppy, wet, explicit–were an erotic symphony in his ear. If he could listen to her gag on his dick for the rest of his life, he probably would.

“You are so good to me,” he whispered. “My Ellie. But, I promised you a gift.”

He eased his pounding of her mouth and resumed his spot on her chest, sliding his shaft back between her breasts. Her breathing eased and she put her hands on his firm, muscle-corded thighs, stroking him slowly, running her fingertips through the nest of pubes around his cock.

His balls tightened and this member twitched next to her sternum, while she squeezed his rock-hard ass cheeks in her hands, digging her nails into his skin. Just like her, he liked a bit of pain as well. 

He pulled out of her mouth just in time for the warm jets of cum to land on her lips, her neck and her chest.

“Mmmm, more,” she finally moaned, licking the familiar salty outpouring from her lips, while he kept coming, until it was dripping down her chest. He scooped some with his fingers and let her lick them off the sperm.

“Beautiful girl,” he purred lovingly. “With a beautiful pearl necklace.”

She laughed and touched her neck. There, beneath the globs of cum, was her new pearl necklace, her Valentine’s gift and the present for her pregnancy.

Azriel collapsed on the bed next to her and then handed her a glass of water. She chugged it down gratefully and he took the biscuit from the nightstand. On it, in pretty script it was written ‘Pearl Necklace’.

Elain got up, amidst his protests and skipped to the bathroom, where she washed off her V Day gift and brushed her teeth.

Then, she quickly returned to bed and collapsed into the embrace of her husband.

“I love you, you know,” he said seriously, spooning her from behind.

“I do know that,” she smiled and kissed his hand. “And I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

He kissed her shoulder gently and then arranged her against himself, before spreading her pussy with his fingers and nudging his already-hard dick inside. He thrust in slowly, filling her gradually and completely. She sighed contentedly.

“Are you hungry?” he worried.

She shook her head and made herself comfortable on his bicep.

“But I am happy.”

“I am happy if you are happy,” he said to her, and kissed her cheek.

Elain yawned. 

Incredibly, of all the biscuits that she would have selected, she randomly chose ‘cock warming’--her very favourite thing to fall asleep with. It’s almost like she…cheated.

-

Nesta and Cassian

Nesta rolled her hips, seated on Cassian’s knees. Her own knees were tucked against his thighs, pressing tightly into him, holding him immobile.

“You look delicious, Nes,” he ground, his voice choked, as he ran his thick fingers through her long silky hair, though now it was tangled against her back.

Her pussy was dripping his shaft, each fold splayed prettily to accommodate his considerable girth and he couldn't get enough of the sight. Especially with the red of her panties pulled aside haphazardly, reminding Cassian of how impatient she was with him. 

A lock of hair bounced over her round breasts, still covered by the bra cup, but it didn’t stop him from putting his mouth over her puckering nipple and biting.

“Fuck me, Cassian,” she grunted through gritted teeth, holding onto the back of his neck. She ground down on him, taking him inside her gorgeous body wholly, tempting tits swaying freely next to his face. He bit her nipple again, sucking on it through the material, and her head fell forward, pressing into his forehead.

The wet, hot friction between them was almost unbearable, but Cassian held her firmly by the hips, fucking up into her and making her take all of him again and again. It was pure, glorious heaven.

“Gimmie a kiss, sweetheart,” he told her, as he fucked her with rough, deep strokes. This was his favourite Nesta–weakened and compliant, her lips pink and glossy, when he took her mouth in a messy, wet kiss. She keened into him, allowing him full control of her body, sucking on his tongue like he wanted her to–soft and sighing with pleasure. He rocked her steadily, his thrusts deep and punishing, as he caressed her arched back and the peachy cut of her ass. She took him breathlessly, her mouth forming an almost shocked ‘O’ every time he hit that perfect spot inside of her, angling her body just so and making her cry out loudly again and again.

“Cassian. Cassian. Cassian.”

Her head lolled to the side and she closed her eyes, her grip on his neck and shoulders easing, and he held her closer, allowing her to relax and know that he had her. 

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured into her hair, pressing his thumbs into the divots above her ass. “Letting me fuck and breed this perfect pussy.”

At that, Nesta exploded. The squelching sounds of her dick pushing inside her became a staccato of explicit, sultry melody. 

“GOD. Cassian. I love you,” she squealed, as he huffed and grunted with adoration at her words.

The walls of her pussy squeezed him tightly, holding him in an almost painful vise-like grip, as she climaxed all over him, melting into a loud, needy scream. She fell into his chest, pumped continuously and nestled her face into the crook of his neck, sucking on it with desperation. 

Only then did Cassian let go of his iron self control and came inside of her, letting her milk every drop of his seed.

“Beautiful, Nes,” he babbled in her ear. “Take it all. Finally.”

This was perfection.

The way she gripped him and how her pussy pulsed all around his dick was incredible.

Nesta was severely allergic to any hormonal contraceptives, and non-hormonal IUD didn’t work for her, causing constant bleeding and extreme discomfort. So they practised the ‘natural method’ and he never came inside of her. Until tonight. Finally. It was amaz-

“Cassian!!!” she cried out. “What the hell?!? What did you do?!”

She pushed against his chest and stared at him with a horrified expression.

“What did I do?” he exclaimed, alarmed.

He was in fact, still orgasming inside of her.

“What?!” he repeated.

“You came!” she accused him pointlessly.

“Well, yes,” his brow furrowed.

“Inside!” she stated the obvious, like he wasn’t aware.

“Well, yeah. You wanted me to!” he reminded her, as he kissed her lips.

“What? When did I want you to?”

“Nesta,” he sighed. “I know you are blissed out, baby, but you asked me to,”

“Asked you what?!”

“To come inside of you. Calm down, sweetheart.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. 

“Stop freaking out. It’s going to be okay.”

“When did I ask you?!” she repeated again.

“The cookie.”

“What cookie?!?!” she screamed.

“The biscuit. That you told me to choose.”

“What about it??!!!” she wiped her face.

“It said Breed Me.”

She stared at him helplessly, mouth open.

Cassian kissed her again and pumped into her deeper, making everything seem inevitable.

“So I bred you,” he shrugged, looking proud of himself. 

-

Fucking Elain and her fucking biscuits.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Saheb, Bibi aur Ghulaam

#3

Thank you to the lovelies @arshifiesta for celebrating IPK and setting up the great moodboards and AU.

1878, Calcutta

Eleven years old Arnav Mullick had not spoken a word in a year.

Some thought it was his parents' traumatizing deaths that led to his silence. But death was nothing new. The house had lost its middle son, his Mejda Akash at tender age of 19.

So no, death made no difference to Arnav. In fact he was happy when his philanderer of a father died of drinking as well. He deserved it. Not once had he seen his father home at night.

Arobindo Mullick would often scoff when stopped, that if any man of this house had ever spent a night in his own house?

So then some speculated that Arnav's behavioral issues had gotten worse, hence why he stopped speaking for a year.

If his darling mother was alive, she would've wrestled with anyone who thought such against her Arnob. Shyam, Arnav's Borda (boro-dada = older-brother) would perhaps be the only one to chuckle and agree with the society. Arnav was tempestuous as a child.

But quiet? Never quite.

The society would never understand that it was Akash's falling for a Baiji (courtesan) at the age of seventeen, his frequent visits leading his early introduction to alcohol despite their mother's best to protect them for it that hurt Arnav the most.

This was when Arnav swore off love.

That his otherwise pious brother was gullible to follow his father's footsteps to a kotha - where Arobindo Mullick spent all his nights.

It was his mother's haunted face and tears that left Arnav speechless. Or rather Arobindo's reply to her request to stay at home.

Has any Mullick ever spent a night in their own home?

This was when Arnav swore off marriage.

Or that despite Raja Rammohan Roy having abolished Sati-pratha a good sixty years ago, Arnav's mother was dragged to her undeserving husband's pyre by her conservative in-laws to follow patni dharam.

This was when Arnav swore off religion.

But if maa was alive, what life would she have had? Arnav saw how his uncle, Kaku, eyed her. And Arnav had seen that in the months prior to his mother's death, how she was shaved, dressed in white and forced into a strictly ritualistic dreary life.

His mother, whose hair spilled like the Ganges from Himalaya, had a beauty who could rival the Goddess, lived a life none deserved simply out of rituals and religion.

Thus when Shyam gave their mother mukh-agni, Arnav found his devotion die in his mother's pyre. And when his only hope, Borda (Shyam) set sail to London abandoning him, his words died as well.

-- -- --

1880, Calcutta

Arnav had been wrong about Borda. He returned as a Barrister from London, swiftly kicking out Kaku (father's younger brother) by bringing up property possession rights and threatened the rest of the Mullicks with incarceration for having forced their mother to die.

Thirteen years old Arnav did not know what to do when the brother he thought so wrongly about did the most just thing. It was then he decided that he too would run away to London when he came of age.

But the other thing he couldn't figure out was what to do with Boudi (bhabhi; sister in law). Their grandmother had fixed Borda (Shyam's) alliance with a member of the Tagore family.

Barely two years older than him, fifteen years old Anjali Devi was to manage the household of a twenty five years of Shyam Mullick. How could Arnav accept her as the lady of the house when the post truly belonged to Maa and only her.

But Arnav realized no rebellion was needed. Boudi arrived with the biggest reverence to their mother, along with the grief of losing her own. She chatted constantly with Arnav, not questioning his silence at all - Borda had gotten fed up after a few tries.

And over the years Arnav realized he had a sibling more in Boudi than in Borda.

Perhaps, perhaps maa's essence found its way into Anjali Boudi. It would explain why Arnav's first words were celebrated by Anjali as if it was her first child who had uttered their first words.

A child she was unable to give through all of her married life.

And perhaps his family was cursed against joy for the moment Arnav saw his mother in Anjali, he saw his father in Shyam.

The easy money he made as a barrister faded quicker given his lavish expenditure in trying to out-host the British and the Indian royalties. He belittled Anjali's lineage as much as he could and tried to prove that he was a bigger industrialist than the Tagores.

Lawyer he was, businessman he wasn't.

And thus at age eighteen Arnav had to run to London, no longer chasing any dream, but at least attempting to make the fortune his brother boasted of having.

-- -- --

1893, London

London was far more accommodating than India would ever be. This was what Arnav believed until, of course, an intellectual sparring with Boudi's cousin - Rabindranath - would get him thinking about perspectives.

To think of it, majority of India's existing regressive laws were nothing but British Victorian laws.

Then who was regressive?

It had been a lazy afternoon where Arnav was entertaining his thoughts, alone, as usual when a telegraph changed his life.

URGENT STOP SHYAM DA MARRYING AGAIN STOP

Arnav tossed the telegraph aside, grabbed his documents and hailed the first ship - premier class - to India.

He only had two goals.

Stop Shyam Mullick from marrying and ruin everybody who stood as an obstacle to Bo- Didi's happiness.

-- -- --

A/N: Yes, babua is here and so is his very very painful history! Lemme know what you all think :)

Tagging @shiyaravi @maansiloves @featheredclover @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @msbhagirathi @phuljari @hand-picked-star @barshifan (updating it slowly and steadily)

[adoroborosgoth]

Crowley dying in s3

I wasn't sure how to start this meta. I've had this theory with possible (big possible) evidence sitting around for ages and I just didn't know what to do with the information.

After I'd already had this information, I only seen a hand full of others talk about it, but none have touched on it in the same way as the things I've found in my research.

So let's get on with it. For reference I'm going to tag @nightingalecottage and their lovely post here. I really recommend reading it. This theory only saw the light of day because of their post and I told them I would tag them with my meta since it lends a lot to it. And I promised myself that I would finish this for them.

Now for the meat and potatoes. I'll break it all down about how I found this information and how it might lend some theory about possible plot to s3.

This got really long so I put a cut.

-Silly narrator voice-

The facts were these.

To start I was doing research for a fic I'm working on and the details don't matter much but I'd planned to make my 'human' crowley a barrister. I was googling famous barristers for inspiration.

This lead me to wikipedia naturally as you do. And as I was looking over the list I saw this.

After seeing this name on the list of barristers in popular culture I had a mini freakout. Mainly because two things NG is a huge fan of Charles Dickens and A Tale of Two Cities is on the bookclub reading list. And I kept thinking why did this seem familiar and this is why.

A Tale of Two Cities is on the list of books that they recommend we read or were found in s2. So after I stopped freaking out I immediately went to the wiki page for this character. I wasn't too familiar with this book so I wanted to know more. As I was now super invested and intrigued. And found this.

Sydney Carton

I couldn't help be blown away by the similarities here between Sydney Carton and a certain depressed snake demon from s2. Morosely asking Shax on a bench in the first episode "What's the point of it all?"

For some context, in the novel Sydney Carton and his later best friend Charles Darnay share a striking semblance and are easily mistaken for each other. This is how Sydney is then able to make the switch with Darnay in the end saving his life.

This brings to mind of the lore that we know that Crowley and Aziraphale were once long ago one character and split into two. Also with the ideal casting choice that Terry Pratchett wanted one actor to play both roles. That would have been really interesting and funny. Also this plays into our favorite duo MS and DT having not worked together before because they were up for the same roles.

Let's move on to

Charles Darnay

Darnay resents his uncle's views much how Aziraphale resents certain aspects of heaven, but is never able to act on very much.

The note about Darnay being tutor of French made me chuckle considering what we know about Aziraphale being terrible at French. With that whole scene centered around it in s2.

Ok so we all are well versed and familiar with the famous Bastille scene. We all know the one and its clear the inspiration here for it comes from A Tale of Two Cities possibly.

Side note Darnay and Carton are both in love with Lucie here, but I posit that in the case of Good omens, Aziraphale is possibly both Darnay and Lucie. Making him the best friend and love intrest.

Lucie Manette

And finally why does any of this matter and what does this have to do with Crowley maybe dying in s3 you ask?

The one important detail in all of this is that at the end of the novel Carton heroically sacrificed himself to save his best friend and for the women he loves. He feels it gave him purpose and felt as if his life finally had meaning.

Two things here. The scene in which Carton swaps places with Darnay being able to pass as him well enough to save his life. Is very reminiscent of our Body Swap from s1. As well as the idea that in s3 this could also happen, but in the sense that Crowley does it to save Aziraphale's life. I clearly have no idea how s3 will play out.

Now I'm not saying that s3 will be as dramatic as all of this. It is still a comedy at its core. As others have touched on in meta and in nightingalecottage's post there are many little hints that point to the similarities and the idea that Crowley maybe doomed by the narrative. In a way, I personally don't think that Crowley's hypothetical death will be permanent. I just do not see that happening at all. A temporary death I could definitely see and it could also serve to show how much Crowley truly means to Aziraphale. The shock of it would maybe be similar to how Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale in s1 and could be a parallel.

In the end this is all speculation and theory. Either way the idea of it all makes me vibrate and I needed to finally share this with someone else. They wouldn't have recommended this book if there wasn't some sort of meaning here right? And its entirely possible I'm looking in the wrong direction.

Overall there are many parallels and similarities here between A Tale of Two Cities and certain parts of Good Omens, I'm sure I may have missed some and I just wanted to end this now before it gets too long. If you made it this far and have any other theories or something you want to add on to this please feel free to tag me. I release this into the void.

[isfjmel-phleg]

@fictionadventurer asked:

It has occurred to me to be upset that we never got a line of Psmith short stories in the vein of Bertie Wooster or Uncle Fred. Psmith would be a perfect character to get tangled in all kinds of short silly scrapes. So maybe a discussion of what Psmith short stories would be? Or a comparison between Psmith and some of the characters that did get short stories.

I talked about this to some extent in my thesis! Wodehouse's long-running series can function the way that they do because they concentrate on comical plots that rely on the characters to have certain fixed traits, so that the stories can continue indefinitely, not unlike a sitcom. We don't read Jeeves or Blandings for character development; we read those series for amusement. And while Psmith has more in common with the better-known Wodehouse characters than he does the cast of the school stories, his series is not established in a particular status quo. Psmith's circumstances change a lot. Psmith himself changes--subtly, but he does experience character development. The format doesn't immediately lend itself to the typical Wodehouse short story, because Psmith, whether he likes it or not, is in a coming-of-age story.

But if there were Psmith short stories, I think they would have to be set either during his time at Cambridge, or in his uncle's fish business or after his marriage. Both would provide a stable setting and the potentiality for lots of minor characters who would bring out the plot (classmates, customers, clients once Psmith becomes a barrister, even Mike and/or Phyllis sometimes). They would likely involve Psmith having to get someone out of some scrape, usually if there's some pompous Downing or Bickersdyke type as antagonist. Or maybe he runs his "Leave it to Psmith" ad again. Stories set after his marriage would have the benefit of Eve as Psmith's equally competent partner; I know that it's more common in Wodehouse works for a wife to be an antagonist/an obstacle to get around, but I think these stories would be more fun with her working in conjunction with Psmith (clever, witty husband and wife team for the win!) and letting the conflict come from the problem needing to be solved. And there would have to still be some character development, slow and subtle, amid the plot of the week, because without it Psmith is rather one-note.

It's what distinguishes him from Uncle Fred. Uncle Fred is there to instigate and enable chaos before retreating back to the custody of his formidable wife. He's hilarious and clever and makes the plots happen, but the stories are not so interested in what's going on with him personally, internally. He's much older than Psmith, despite his youthful behavior, and thus is not in a position of life in which personal growth is supposed to be inherent. He's had decades to become what he is, and he arrives fully formed and complete. Nothing wrong with that--he just serves a completely different narrative purpose.

And Psmith would be much the same if we only ever saw him during the shoenanigans or the umbrella incident or the haunting of Bickersdyke in which he's a smooth-talking, flippant puppet-master in control of every situation thanks to his wits and money. But he doesn't exist in a narrative of isolated comedic incident; he's in novels in which we get to see him in a variety of situations and states of mind, which requires him to be a more fleshed-out character.

[female-malice]

In the early morning hours of April 22, 2021 – Earth Day – nine women aged between 20 and 68 turned up at the Canary Wharf branch of HSBC carrying hammers and chisels. Wearing patches that read “better broken windows than broken promises”, they proceeded to smash the building’s windows, before sitting down on the pavement to await arrest. The Met were called at 7:10am, and before long all nine women were arrested on suspicion of causing criminal damage.

The nine were Jessica Agar, Blyth Brentnall, Valerie Brown, Gully Bujak, Miriam Instone, Tracey Mallaghan, Susan Reid, Samantha Smithson and Clare Farrell, co-founder of Extinction Rebellion (XR). As members of XR, they were taking action against HSBC pumping £80 billion into fossil fuels investments in the five years following the Paris Climate Agreement, going directly against the pledge to keep global temperature rise below 1.5 degrees.

Their trial started in October, with all nine pleading not guilty. Amazingly, Farrell let go of her lawyer, deciding to self-represent, writing and delivering the closing remarks in court herself. “It’s painful for me to be part of a society so immoral, so off track,  it is set to destroy the next generation, and billions of lives are likely to be lost on the current course, and my heart asks me to do the work which has the best chance of affecting a change of course,” she said to jurors. “Never before has there been such grave responsibility on a generation of people to succeed in such dire circumstances. It’s beyond serious – we have all the information and there is no room for failure, every day counts.”

On November 16, over two years since the HSBC protest, jurors found all nine women not guilty. Below, we speak to Farrell about the outcome of the trial, taking inspiration from the suffragettes, and the importance of faith within the climate justice movement.

During the trial, you decided to ultimately let go of lawyers and self-represent. How did you come to that decision?

Clare Farrell: Well, I kept a lawyer at the beginning and I delivered my defence with a lawyer asking me questions. But I sacked him – and I’ve sacked him before, so he doesn’t mind, it’s fine! – just before we went into the summing up, which is the closing part of the trial. I did that because I wanted to be able to address the jury again myself, and if you’re represented by a lawyer or a barrister, they have to do the summing up for you. As activists we do this work to speak truth, and I think some people find it quite difficult to be represented – they feel that they should be taking responsibility themselves, and they also feel they have a lot to say.

I saw that during the action against HSBC you wore patches which read ‘better broken windows than broken promises’, which is a phrase coined by the suffragettes. Do you think Extinction Rebellion and the suffragettes have much in common?

Clare Farrell: Yeah – well, I hope so! We were very inspired by the movements of the past when we set up XR, and the suffrage movement is obviously a relatively recent story of radical political success in this country’s history. Also, the Chartists broke windows before them, so I saw it as part of a tradition or lineage in British political life and history.

What’s also interesting for me is how present the suffrage movement felt in our trial because we had the colour scheme – the white, purple and green – and those patches. Those things were raised in the courtroom because they were there on the day, they were part of the action. So I felt greatly supported by the suffragettes in a strange kind of way while I was on trial.

You said in your speech that the prosecution didn’t dispute that the climate crisis is making the world “totally uninhabitable for hundreds of millions of people”. Was this a bit jarring for you, given that you were essentially on trial for trying to address the climate crisis issue?

Clare Farrell: I think this is what’s really difficult about the way that these trials are happening in the court system at the moment. Because the judge said very clearly, this is not a case about the climate crisis; they said this is going to be a case about the defences that are available through the Criminal Damage Act. Did they do the damage? If yes, have they got an excuse? If they can convince you they had a lawful excuse under this little thing called ‘belief in consent’, you can let them off. If they can’t, then they’re guilty.

You’re trying to speak to a bigger picture, which is being somewhat described as irrelevant by the court system, but obviously, it is the entire point of what we’re talking about. So there’s a real paradox at play. We were very lucky, because the judge let us make arguments based on two other defences, which included ‘necessity’, which is when an action is to prevent death and serious injury, and ‘protection of property’, the idea being I was damaging some property to protect some other property. And then there was ‘belief in consent’. So when we gave our evidence, we had to speak to all of those three defences. Then at the end, he took two of them off the table, but a lot of people don’t get given that room to talk.

There’s another trial coming up in February, for other people who broke windows. They have a different judge, and it’s actually a judge who has put people in prison before for talking about climate change to a jury. So if he deems it irrelevant, those people could have a completely different experience, even though they’ve basically done the same thing, but on a different day at a different bank.

It shows us that when the jury has a chance to hear what you have to say, they understand the seriousness and the efficacy of this kind of action when you’re in an emergency. If they’re not allowed to hear any of that, then it’s very easy for a judge to say, ‘well, look, that’s them on the video, they broke the window, it wasn’t legal, you just have to find them guilty’. And then that’s that. So it really depends on the day that you get arrested, the day that your court gets listed, which judge it is, which police officers are there, which prosecution barristers you’ve got, which jurors you’ve got… the whole system is very unpredictable.

How did you feel when you heard that you were found not guilty?

Clare Farrell: I just cried. I was grabbing hold of the desk, gripping the table. And I cried. I’ve never been through anything like it in my life. The whole process of the trial was just so hard on [my] soul and body and everything. It’s physically hard, it’s emotionally hard, and it’s kind of made worse by the fact that it’s so fucking boring, because most of the time nothing is happening.

Also, you can’t tell from looking at a jury what they’re going to do. You spend weeks looking at these people from across the room and thinking, ‘I really hope you like me’! On the day when the verdict came, it was remarkable that they were only out for two hours. That’s not very long, because they had to decide on nine defendants so they’d have had to discuss each person individually, at least a little bit. So they must have really been pretty sure about what they wanted to do. The person who read out names and said ‘not guilty’ seemed very pleased to say it, to put it like that! And there was one juror who was leaning back in his chair with his arms folded and grinning, because he was obviously really happy to let us off.

What would you say to critics of Extinction Rebellion, who are maybe more sceptical and don’t believe that radical action can result in progress? Or maybe don’t believe that there’s a climate issue at all?

Clare Farrell: I would hope that our trial has shown where ordinary people’s heads are at. It proves that the reality we live in – in terms of what’s being done at a corporate level, and what’s being done at a government level, and the rhetoric of Rishi Sunak – I hope that this is just proof that all of that is completely out of step with the general public. The general public don’t want their kids to die. They don’t want to live in a world that collapses. More and more people realise that that is precisely what is gonna happen. And they don’t want it!

I think there’s something to be said for these kinds of actions which can be an awakening for people. People are always complaining about tactics, saying people don’t like being disrupted or they don’t like what you’re doing because it’s annoying – but if you can see that someone’s in mortal danger, it’s very normal to want to tell them. I think it’s also proof that when people spend the time having an in-depth conversation about what’s taking place, there’s no question in people’s minds about what is the right thing to do. I hope so, anyway.

I hope so too. Those are actually all the questions that I had, but is there anything else that you’d like to add?

Clare Farrell: One thing which is on my mind a lot at the moment has to do with faith. I’m not a religious person, but my reflections since the trial have been quite a lot about how faith exists for me and also how it seems to be very lacking in our wider society in Britain. We live in a materialist, cynical context, which is enormously problematic because I’ve spoken to a lot of people over the last six years who’ve said to me, ‘it’s nice for you to try, but realistically, you’re never going to win – it’s too big, it’s too difficult, the power is too entrenched’. I feel like one of the key requirements for us is to find a sense of faith and in that understanding ourselves to be part of a greater whole, and not just discreet little beings that are separate from one another.

I feel really extremely lucky to have had an experience like this where we were able to win a trial and go home and think, ‘oh, right, what do I do now?’, because I thought I was gonna be in prison for Christmas. What do we do with our freedom?

The HSBC 9 are crowdfunding to cover their remaining legal costs and raise money for other activist groups’ legal costs. You can donate here. You can also read an open letter written in support of the HSBC 9 here.

[finnickyslut]

More of the Truth-warping Cattonquick au because I have to get it out.

Oliver's sisters

His older sister is 29 and the younger one 26. They're both booksmart like Oliver (one studied law and the other psychiatry) and very close to each other. They grew upper-middle class. The older one has a cushy job as a barrister and the younger one is still studying. They both live in London.

They live close enough to Oxford that the older one volunteered to be added to his emergency contacts list when Paula started fussing about her baby so far away from home (the Quicks were chuffed). When Oliver privately asked about appointing her primary contact she was moved but alarmed.

They never lived together and saw him only a handful of times a year. This became even less as they grew older, using their studies as an excuse. They were tepid at best whenever Paula and Oliver were involved, and not much warmer about Jeff. Paula didn't want Jeff to pressure them and risk alienating them even more. Jeff himself was a fool for his daughters.

They saw Oliver as a bother and "that slag's child" for a long time, even if they knew he wasn't really at fault for anything. Never wanted anything to do with him until they were both uni age. (12-14 y.o. Oliver)

Several things coalesced around that time, including an incident where Oliver got his arm scar, their mother happily remarrying, them finally having certain conversations with her and each other... Mostly just maturity.

Although they apologized to him and actively started trying, they had their own lives and Oliver was too wary by then and still hasn't truly opened up. All the same, they did connect, mostly through their love for literature, drive, their feelings about Jeff and Paula, and later when the girls advised him regarding uni and career choices. They each have scheduled calls with him at least once a month.

(Oliver will never tell, but it was a conversation with them about "making your own opportunities" that led to him puncturing Felix's tire)

Oliver has incredibly conflicting feelings about his sisters. He admires, resents and envies them. He appreciates their sustained effort to connect and make things up to him, but he can't fully trust it. He can't bring himself to think of them as his sisters neither give them up. He realizes they were kids too but is bitter about getting the short end of the stick.

All three siblings share dimples, wavy hair, a pale complexion and impressive lashes. (Felix feels shivers at the hospital seeing Oliver's gaze on his older sister's face.)

His sisters gifted him his necklace and a few other things once they started trying to get close (other gifts include tutoring for uni exam preparations, some favorite books, a nice shirt that he has since outgrown, a fancy scarf and gloves, tickets to a play...).

He keeps most of the physical ones in a box, tells himself he just can't throw presents away or his parents would ask (Just the once, he ripped apart a book in a fit, ended up crying like a baby, desperately trying to put it back together)

The girls have a good amount of correct suspicions about Oliver's mental problems. They have tried to have "general" conversations around mental health and therapy but anytime things got too close to home he shut down and deflected. Given he seems high-functioning they've focused on showing they're non-judgmental/a safe space and learning how to be a good support system.

They know from experience that talking to Oliver's parents about any of this would be counterproductive.

Oliver was originally planning on spending part of the summer with them to avoid home. They were looking forward to it but were happy for him once they'd asked around and checked Felix Catton was a real, non-psycho person who actually hung out with their baby brother.

[duelistkingdom]

nowhere i'd rather be

Summary: deep in the woods belongs the cabin of one of the world's most powerful sorcerers, and miho has her eyes on them.

Rating: T

Ships: Ryo Bakura/Miho Nosaka

Author’s note: written for @sapphic-september with the prompt of "occult". bakura has been they/them'd.

read on ao3 / support me on kofi (battle city & up supporters get early access) / join my discord (18+)

Deep in the woods, Bakura's small little cottage melted into the scenery - the wood matching the bark of the trees surrounding it perfectly. The windows twisted into natural shapes, with the leaves covering the roof of the cottage. If Miho hadn't been looking for it, she would have missed it. Just looking at it took effort and skill that a lesser witch might not have had. Good thing for Miho that she was no ordinary witch - just like she knew the witch in the cabin was also no ordinary witch. She'd met her in a shop ages ago, picking up something strange that Miho couldn't identify. She'd begged to learn from Bakura, and she'd agreed. She flushed as she thought of the long, thin, pale fingers Bakura had, and knocked on the door. She wasn't trying to think of all the other things her hands might be able to do, but the image of her hands on her hips was hard to shake.

The door swung open without Bakura standing there. Miho stepped over the threshold, and a polite coat hanger tapped on her shoulder, holding out its arms for her coat. She unbuckled it, and said, "Careful. It's hand dyed silk and mohair. It'd be expensive to replace it." The coathanger nodded, carefully hanging the coat on a road. Miho smiled, and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Coathanger! Where's Bakura?"

It made a gesture towards further inside the cabin, and Miho went in the direction it gestured. Plants grew along the walls, and it was hard to tell if was just plants or if there was some sort of structure underneath. A mirror in the hallway seemed to reflect something that wasn't there, and Miho had no interest in staring at it for too long. It unsettled her enough to move past it quickly to a spiral staircase. "Come on in, Miho," a serene voice called from the upstairs. "I've got something that I'd like to show you."

The wood of the barrister was covered in ivy, and it was wet to the touch(as if someone has just freshly watered it), so Miho just went up the stairs with the hope that she didn't slip. As far as she could tell, the entire home was built as if it was meant to simply blend into nature. It was adorable, but utterly impractical in her opinion. Some objects on the wall radiated a positive joy, and others felt like they were there against their will. She could sense it - Bakura might come across as ditzy, but she had to be a powerful sorceress in her own right. It made her want her all the more - powerful, gorgeous, and utterly impossible. Miho licked her lips, eager to make a move. There was a delicacy to that - a first move had to be done in a way that minimized the chances of rejection. Bakura was smiling inside a room, and gave a light wave to Miho. She was pale - almost as pale as a vampire. The sharp canines could've been vampire teeth in another life. "Alright," Miho said, moving in closer. "What is it that you wanted to show me?"

Bakura smiled as she gestured to the collection of shrunken heads encased in a display made of wood and glass. Normally Miho didn't care much for the grotesque items, but as Bakura went over each of them, detailing how she came across them, Miho gained a new appreciation for them. She'd never truly love them, but she could admire how much Bakura loved them. "Are you listening," she asked, piercing through Miho's thoughts. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, they're neat," she said with a grin, taking a step closer. It was now or never, she decided. And so her hands reached up to grip at Bakura's collar, yanking her to her. All thoughts of delicacy was thrown out the window as her lips collided with Bakura's, desperate to discover what a powerful woman like her would taste like. It was mainly a wintermint flavor, with some sort of earthy flavor that Miho couldn't name. Perhaps toothpaste and coffee? Tea? It didn't matter. It was something that she wanted to taste forever, she decided. Was it insane to see the future now? She could picture the way her life could fit in this cabin in the woods. "But I think you're more neat."

It took a moment before Bakura reacted, and Miho worried that she might've come across too strong again. Every second that passed felt like hours, and Miho had never thought it was possible for time to stretch like that. Instead of a proper reply, Bakura pulled Miho back to her, kissing her yet again. Miho finally allowed herself to indulge in thinking about what came next after this: forever.

[teamwindsorroyals]

Source: Old History Memories/FB

Deborah Cavendish the Duchess of Devonshire (1920-2014) and her husband Andrew Cavendish, the Duke of Devonshire and their two children; Peregrine and Emma. The family were photographed by Norman Parkinson for Vogue magazine, in August 1952.

Debo as she was affectionately known, was the youngest of seven siblings. She has five sisters Nancy, Pamela, Diana, Unity, Jessica and a brother, Tom. Her death in 2014 as the last of the clan, signalled the end of an era which had spanned 110 years of the Mitford girls capturing society.

Her parents, David, 2nd Baron Redesdale and his wife Sydney were for the best part penniless and eccentric aristocrats. School for the girls was frowned upon, in case they should develop thick calves from playing hockey (Tom, who spent time away studying at Eton, was a Barrister and musician, later killed in Burma in 1945). Amongst other things, linen napkins were abandoned because of the cost of laundering them, and the children were forced to follow a kosher diet on the premises that cancer was less prevalent among Jews. The girls were very hands on and practical at home, developing enquiring minds as they were essentially left to their own devices. This made them ever more appealing when they entered society. Of the sisters, Jessica, Nancy and Deborah became writers.

Their combination of beauty, brains and humour catapulted them to celebrities status and they remained continually courted by the press covering stories of affairs, notoriety and extreme politics.

Diana’s affair with fascist leader Sir Oswald Mosley caused her to leave her marriage to Britain’s wealthiest man at the time, Irish brewing heir, Bryan Guinness. Unity followed her infatuation with Hitler to Germany and died from an attempted suicide. Jessica’s communist support of the Spanish Civil War led her to flee to Spain at age 18, eventually settling in the US. Nancy became a Dior wearing socialist, who left her marriage and moved to France where she indulged in a doomed affair with Charles de Gaulle's right-hand man, Gaston Palewski. Pamela, married the millionaire scientist Derek Jackson and sought of a quieter life out of the limelight. At the time, 15 year-old Debo, who had a crush on Derek, fainted when she heard the news.

Much like the Queen Mother, Debo was looking forward to a life of relative obscurity by marrying the second son of the Duke of Devonshire, Andrew Cavendish in 1941. Unexpectedly, when the 10th Duke died in 1950, they found themselves the 11th Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. Inheriting Chatsworth, Hardwick Hall, Lismore Castle and Bolton Abbey. Death duties meant they donated Hardwick Hall to the nation and precious works of art were sold as Andrew negotiated endlessly, until the debt was finally settled in 1974.

Their lives changed when Billy Hartington, Andrew’s elder brother and heir, was killed during the Second World War by a sniper's bullet in 1944. His death only four months after his marriage to the very popular Kathleen 'Kick' Kennedy, JFK's sister. Four years later, Kick died in a plane crash and is buried in the churchyard at Edensor on the family estate.

Debo redecorated Chatsworth which had previously been leased to a girl’s school, opened it up to the public and spent 54 years of her life there. Her initiatives included the Chatsworth Farmyard – set up to provide people of all ages and backgrounds with the opportunity to learn about farming, food production and traditional landscapes; Chatsworth Farm Shop; and the Orangery gift shop. A pioneer of her time, it paved the way for the commercialisation of other farm estate businesses like Daylesford and Highgrove Farm shops.

Debo moved into Derbyshire vicarage on the death of her husband and assuming the title Dowager Duchess of Devonshire.

Writers of period dramas and historical fiction have looked to the world of the Mitfords sisters for inspiration. Julian Fellowes’ Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham in Downton Abbey is said to be based on Nancy’s wicked humour.

Diana was portrayed by Evelyn Waugh in Vile Bodies, Deborah was painted by Lucian Freud and Jessica had a cardboard coffin named after her. John Betjeman - who at one time was in love with Pamela - celebrated the sisters in a verse, the first lines of which read: "The Mitford girls! The Mitford Girls/ I love them for their sins".

Her last publication before her death was her autobiography, ‘Wait For Me!’. See less See less

[themalhambird]

UK ELECTION 2024: WHO'S LEADING THE FOUR MAJOR PARTIES?

The Conservatives currently have a majority in Parliament and form the Government. The Labour Party, with the second highest number of seats, leads the opposition. The SNP (Scottish National Party) are the second largest opposition party, and the Liberal Democrats are the third. Who's leading them?

This is, as far as possible, a non-partisan guide. The information is chiefly summarised or otherwise pulled directly from the candidate's respective Wikipedia pages. Any other sources will also be linked.

Click below to keep reading, and all that jazz.

Rishi Sunak, Leader of the Conservative Party. Current Prime Minister; Member for Richmond.

Rishi Sunak was born in Hampshire in 1980. His father is a GP for the NHS and his mother was a pharmacist who owned her own pharmacy. Sunak became head boy during his time as a day pupil at Winchester College, and worked as a waiter in a restaurant during summer holiday. He read philosophy, politics and business at Lincoln College, Oxford, and during the course of his degree undertook an internship at Conservative Campaign Headquarters. 

Sunak’s pre-Westminster career was in banking. He worked as an analyst for Goldman-Sachs before moving to work for a hedgefund management firm. He later became a partner in this firm, , and spent a couple of years as Director of an Investment firm owned by his father in law: In 2009 he married Akshata Murthy, an heiress; business woman; fashion designer; and venture capitalist in her own right. The couple have two daughters, aged 13 and 11. 

Sunak first became an MP in 2015. He campaigned in favour of Brexit in 2016. He became Chancellor of the Exchequer in 2020  whilst Boris Johnson was Prime Minister, and shot to popularity after the COVID furlough scheme was implemented. His Eat Out to Help Out scheme, which was designed to boost the hospitality sector during COVID  by offering a 50% discount on eligible meals, is thought to have contributed massively to the need for a second COVID lockdown. In April 2022 Sunak was issued with a fixed penalty notice by Police as part of the investigation into Downing Street breaches of their own COVID rules (this is commonly referred to as The Party Gate Scandal). 

Sunak became Prime Minister in October 2022 after his predecessor, Liz Truss, crashed and burned rather spectacularly. 

Kier Starmer K.C., Leader of the Labour Party. Current Leader of the Opposition. Member for Holbourn and St. Pancress.

Kier Starmer was born in Southwark, 1962, and raised in Surrey- the second of four children. His father was a tool maker; his mother was a nurse. Both were active in the Labour Party and Starmer was named after Labour’s first leader, Keir Hardie. As a teenager, Starmer was a member of the Labour Party Young Socialists. Starmer was the first member of his family to attend university, studying Law at the University of Leeds and graduating with first class honours. He completed his Post-Graduate studies at Oxford, during which time he served as the editor of a Trotskyiest radical magazine, Socialist Alternatives. 

Starmer’s  pre-Westminster career was in law. He became a barrister in 1987, undertaking legal aid work, including pro bono cases: he was instructed by Arthur Scargill during the Miners’ Strike of the Thatcher years.

Starmer worked primarily on Human Rights issues, including defending people facing the death penalty. He was appointed Queen’s Counsel in 2002 and became joint head of the Doughty Street Chambers that same year. He was Human Rights Advisor to the Northern Ireland Policing Board, and he marched and wrote legal opinions against the Iraq War. 

Starmer became head of the Crown Prosecution Service and Director of Public Prosecutions in 2008 and served in the position until 2013. Noteworthy incidents during his tenure include:

In 2009, Conservative MP David Davies calling for Starmer to be dismissed after Starmer  vocally opposed the Conservative Government’s proposal to repeal the Human Rights Act 1998 

In 2010, Starmer prosecuting MPs and a Member of the House of Lords for false accounting in the aftermath of the Parliamentary Expenses Scandal. 

In 2013, Starmer published a study demonstrating that false reports of rape are rare, and started an enquiry into the reduction of rape and domestic violence reports being made to the police. 

Starmer was knighted for services to law and criminal justice in 2014 and became a Labour MP in 2015. He was opposed to Brexit and  advocated for a second referendum. He replaced Jeremy Corbyn as leader of Labour Party in 2019, when Corbyn stepped down after Labour suffered their worst electoral defeat in roughly 80 years. 

In 2007 Starmer married Victoria Alexander, who was previously a solicitor and is now an Occupational Health Worker for the NHS. The pair have a 15 year old son and a 13 year old daughter. 

Stephen Flynn, Leader of the Scottish National Party* in the House of Commons. Member for Aberdeen South.

*Perhaps obviously, The Scottish National Party only stands candidates in Scotland. Flynn is therefore unlikely to be the next Leader of the Opposition, though the SNP will probably remain a major voting bloc in Westminster.

Stephen Flynn was born in Dundee in 1988. He studied History and Politics at the University of Dundee. He was elected to Aberdeen City Council in 2015, leading the SNP group in the Council. He was elected to Parliament in 2019. He replaced Ian Blackford as Leader of the Scottish National Party in the House of Commons in December 2023. 

Ed Davey, Leader of the Liberal Democrats. Member for Kingston and Surbiton.

Ed Davey was born in Nottingham  in 1965. By the time he was fifteen he had lost both his parents and was being raised by his maternal grandparents. He studied Philosophy, Politics, and Economics at Oxford. In 1989 he became an economics researcher for the Liberal Democrats, and was elected to Parliament in 1997. During the coalition Government he served as Undersecretary of State for Business (2010-2012), and Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change (2012-2015). He lost his seat in 2015, a disastrous election in general for the Lib Dems, but was knighted the same year for political and public services. He regained his seat in 2017 and became leader of the Liberal Democrats in 2019. He married Emily Gasson, also a Liberal Democrat Politician, in 2007. The couple have one son. 

***

Additions to this post are welcome, but please stick to facts and not personal opinion. Provide sources where possible. Do NOT attack or otherwise insult anybody mentioned in this post based on physical appearance or other similar traits. The UK election will be on July 4th 2024. You can register to vote here.

[studywgabi]

That Time When I Was 12 That My Mother Accidentally Took Me To A Burlesque Show

Mom's favorite book is The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, a classic tale of adventure, justice, revenge, love, forgiveness, and, apparently, nipple pasties. So when she saw there would be a play adaptation running for one night only in the Big City near Hometown, she was so excited that she immediately bought the tickets without reading the playbill too closely.

So, there we were: country mice on an awfully big adventure, off to Big City to bond over wholesome, family-friendly fun in manner of Gilmore Girls or similar. The bouncer (there was a bouncer) asked to see our I.D.s, I said I wasn't 21 and asked if I could still sit in the theatre since the bar (there was a bar) was in the lobby. The bouncer said she'd ask her manager, but my mom went all real housewife gangsta on her: "I'm her mom, and it's okay with me that she's here." She wasn't about to miss the show when she'd already bought the tickets and had to take the train to get here, and the bouncer knew that. I love my mom.

We found our seats and I read the program while we waited for the curtain to come up. We started out like this:

"That's so weird, I didn't even know this place was 21+."

"Yeah, that seems strange for just a normal theatre, like any other. But everyone here is, like, super old."

Then we got to:

"Oh, so this is like, a modern re-telling?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Oh, so it must be like Clueless or 10 Things I Hate About You or something like that."

"Probably."

Then:

"Wait, this theatre company is called Manustrip?"

"Huh. That's a weird name."

And eventually:

"Mamá, is this a burlesque show?"

She didn't get the chance to reply before the show started, but I got my answer from Fuschia Folds, Annya Neese, and Miss Trixie Vermouth soon enough. Incredible performances, the highlight was watching two drag queens gag Villefort with her with her own barrister's band and whip her for misbehaving while sitting next to my middle-aged Catholic mother in a very vocal audience.

Where you lead, I will follow.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Sussex Brand VICTIM

Follow the link Rebecca is tweeting...

Prince Harry was quiet and sounded nervous as he stated his name “Prince Harry” and swore an oath on the bible in the witness box

I’ve never heard a barrister have to explain to the court the protocol on how to address a witness… “Your Royal Highness” in the first instance, then “Prince Harry”

Prince Harry says decision to “reluctantly” step back from Royal role was in large part “due to the constant intrusion, inciting of hatred & harassment by the tabloid press into every aspect of our private lives, which had a devastating impact on our mental health and wellbeing”

Prince Harry writes in his witness statement “How much more blood will stain their typing fingers before someone can put a stop to this madness.” He explains the comment was directed more broadly at the tabloid press rather than specific Mirror Group Newspaper journalists.

Prince Harry’s witness statement is 55 pages long. He writes… “What I complain of here is illegal or unlawful, and that is something which I feel incredibly strongly about.”

I genuinely feel that in every relationship that I’ve ever had – be that with friends, girlfriends, with family or with the army, there’s always been a third party involved, namely the tabloid press.”

It created a huge amount of paranoia in my relationships. I would become immediately suspicious of anyone that was named in a story about me I felt that I couldn’t trust anybody, which was an awful feeling for me especially at such a young age.”

I feel somewhat relieved to know that my paranoia towards my friends and family had, in fact, been misplaced, although feel sad for how much it impacted my adolescence.”

In his witness statement #PrinceHarry makes several references to his late mother #PrincessDiana “There are even eight private investigator payments made in relation to my mother, which I have only learnt of since bringing my claim. This makes me feel physically sick.”

The Duke of Sussex singles out Piers Morgan for criticism

The thought of Piers Morgan and his band of journalists earwigging into my mother’s private and sensitive messages (in the same way as they have me)…

and then having given her a “nightmare time” three months prior to her death in Paris, makes me feel physically sick and even more determined to hold those responsible, including Mr Morgan, accountable for their vile and entirely unjustified behaviour.”

“As a consequence of me bringing my Mirror Group claim, both myself and my wife have been subjected to a barrage of horrific personal attacks and intimidation from Piers Morgan, who was the Editor of the Daily Mirror between 1995 and 2004

presumably in retaliation and in the hope that I will back down, before being able to hold him properly accountable for his unlawful activity towards both me and my mother during his editorship.

The problem is that, over the last 15 to 20 years, there are now incredibly powerful media companies who masquerade as journalists and who have, quite literally, hijacked journalistic privileges for their own personal gain and agenda, It’s an unbelievably dangerous place.”

I am bringing this claim, not because I hate the tabloid press or even necessarily a section of it, but in order to properly hold the people who have hijacked those privileges, which come with being a member of the press, to account for their actions.”

I feel there’s a responsibility to expose this criminal activity in the name of public interest."

Prince Harry attempts to lighten to mood by quipping “you’ve got me doing a work-out” as the defence barrister repeatedly asks him to pull out the huge bundles of documents involved in this complicated case.

Prince Harry has been asked to raise his voice in court. The barrister for Mirror Group Newspapers, Andrew Green KC, jokes “not in anger I hope!”

https://www.itv.com/news/2023-06-06/prince-harry-in-high-court-in-case-against-mirror-publisher#Echobox=1686047163

[crypticmoth-art]

I saw a post about your TMA OCs, they look so interestingg, please tell me more about them [if you want to lol] <3

Oh absolutely! I love talking about my OCs! I shan’t bore you with all the details, as I do have quite a lot on them.

The three in question are originally from a TMA OC cosplay tag on Tiktok set in Regency era Britain before the Magnus Institute was established.

My Terminus avatar, Cassius Sallow, is a funeral furnisher and cabinet maker, both trades inherited from his father. He met Beckett Hurst, the person who would become his lifelong partner (in friendship, romance, and crime) when he accompanied his father at a young age to oversee the funeral of Beckett’s late mother. The two hit it off splendidly, and Beckett’s grief-stricken father, a man of great stature, insisted that Cassius and Beckett continue each other’s company.

Into their teenage years and early adulthood, Cassius prepared to take over his father’s business while Beckett became a student of medicine at Guy’s Hospital. The two also became Resurrectionists, disinterring graves to sell to surgeons and anatomists (which led to them experiencing the horrors).

With that last bit tying into Beckett’s untimely death! Beckett is actually a manifestation of Cassius’ End-aligned abilities, but whether he is actually a ghost tied to Cassius, or a manifestation of Cassius’ memory or delusions is unclear.

The third character is my Lonely avatar, Yves Ainsley. He’s a well-off barrister who is presently in a relationship with Cassius and Beckett (very Lonely to be in an active relationship with a dead man). I don’t have as much lore on him yet, because he’s the newest of the trio, but he owns a house in Soho, with all the rooms either empty or the furniture covered with sheets.

Much to his chagrin, he does keep himself integrated into high society, attending the occasional dinner party, and even rarer, hosting his own. His attendance of social events is not for his enjoyment, but to observe candidates that he can single out for the Lonely.

At some point, he became attracted to Cassius due to his subjected Loneliness surrounding the death of Beckett.

I have quite a bit more on them, but I think I’ve dumped a lot already and don’t want to bombard you!

[bethanydelleman]

Can the Prices be considered part of the gentry? Mrs. Price was part of it when she was young but what about Mr. Price?

And assuming they're not, does Fanny become gentry when the Bertrams take her in? She keeps her last name and they're set on not raising her like their own daughters so I'm not sure if Fanny was actually adopted or just taken in.

Okay, so as a former Navy Marine Officer (which is distinct from a Naval Officer, think military on a ship), Mr. Price would probably be considered gentry or at least have an entry into the local gentry, but here is the problem: it's not just your birth/profession, you need to act like gentry.

The Prices do not. Mrs. Price does not entertain from her house at all. Yes, Mr. Price's drinking buddies come by, but we are explicitly told that Mrs. Price meets her friends outside after church. Gentry visit each other's houses and sit down inside. We also know she basically doesn't leave the house during the week. So they are not participating in gentry society.

The Bates, poor as they are, do participate though they have trouble reciprocating (they would not be able to host dinners). Mrs. Dashwood actually both hosts and visits, so she is a full participating member of the gentry (though she deliberately establishes a very small circle of friends, probably so she can afford to host properly for a few).

I have a whole post about how complex the bottom section of the gentry seems to be, but I would say here that if the Prices decided to act like gentry, they could be accepted, but they don't and have no real connections, so they probably would not be considered gentry.

As for Fanny, as far as I understand she is not adopted, this whole thing is very informal. Even with Frank Churchill, it's not totally clear if he is legally adopted or just tacitly confirmed to be the heir:

He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own; for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his uncle’s heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume the name of Churchill on coming of age.

Avowed means "stated publicly" but it does not mean "legal" and it seems clear to me in the novel that Frank could still be disinherited (then again, Edward is and he's a real son, so I guess even adoption isn't rock solid...).

Anyway, in raising Fanny, it seems that while she benefits from her uncle's social standing, it does not erase her actual origins. After all, Mary kind of gives Henry the line they will use to introduce Fanny as his wife:

She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram; that will be enough for the world. (Ch 30)

which does not mention her parents. Better to focus on the rich uncle and not the Price Family.

Lastly, it is not entirely clear if the Ward sisters were gentry, their uncle is a lawyer which might mean a gross, middle-class lawyer who works, not a gentry lawyer (barrister)... However, their former status doesn't really matter, it is far more important where the husband stands in society. While Lady Catherine may feel fancy with the courtesy title she has from being born as an earl's daughter, her marriage into the gentry makes her gentry as far as I understand. The Ward sisters married into the top, middle, and bottom of the gentry, that is where they exist. That is part of the reason why marriage was such a huge choice for women!