#shall i deliver pain or shall i deliver porn?

[possamble]

when you need your next dose of attention but both your wips are at a really weird midway point that's gonna take multiple days to figure out

#possramble #shall i deliver pain or shall i deliver porn? #the answer: i should be working for like real money instead.

[scekrex]

Ask and I shall, deliver! Since you've asked for some prompts, I've had this one in my mind :D

How about a male reader being married to Adam, the whole last extermination day happens, battle at the Hotel and Adam dying. The reader couldn't save his husband, goes back to Heaven depressed as shit and not even for one day believes that Adam is actually dead (reborn sinner!Adam is my jam, can you notice?), so in secret from Heaven he goes to hell under disguise to search for his husband. When he finally finds him, he runs at him full speed at squeezes him as tightly as he can. Adam thinking that reader forgot about him and wouldn't want to be with him even if he was alive since he was now a sinner and the reader just saying: When I was marrying you, I vowed to you "Through thick and thin, through sickness and health, till death do us part", you don't look very dead to me.

Basically just sweet ol' hurt/comfort with a happy ending :V Btw, love your work! Genuinely keeps me awake at night making up scenarios in my head, damn 💀

Also, you've just been squished Adam'd 😎

squished Adam my beloved whoooooo

Till death do us part, but we're already past that phase

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, temporary character death

note: not beta read bc idc

Lucifer was punching Adam, again and again. You couldn't see but you heard. You heard his groans and yelps filled with pain and then there was silence.

You stood up as well as possible. Your leg was badly injured, some fuck up had almost cut it off entirely, your shoulder was shattered because that fucking porn demon had managed to hit your wing with two bullets which had caused you to crash down onto the ground due to the sudden pain.

“Adam,” you groaned as you slowly made your way over to where your husband was. You were worried, fuck that, you were frightened. While the demons hurting Adam's soldiers was one thing, them actually hurting Adam was something different entirely.

Adam crawled out of the pit, blood smeared across his face, a blue eye and several other facial injuries. Fuck it would take a long time for all of that bullshit to heal. “No, you don't get to end this,” you heard the voice of the first man speaking to the sinners that had gathered up around the pit Lucifer had created when he and his hell spawn of daughter had slammed the taller man onto the ground. “I’m fucking Adam, I’m the fucking man,” he stood up, finally facing the sinners he had been battling the entire time and you wanted to rush to him, to simply grab him and fly off before worse things could happen. Adam was already hurt, there was no need to stay longer and make things worse. However, the cannibal that suddenly grabbed your food and yanked it off the ground caught you off guard, made you crash onto the ground yet a second time as a loud scream of pain erupted from your chest. That motherfucker had torn your leg off even more. It was still attached to your body but the wound was huge and the blood had already managed to get through the fabric you had wrapped around it in panic, covering the once black fabric in shiny golden blood.

Adam's head snapped in your direction at that though and he was quick to react and rush over to you. Not that you needed help however, once you had noticed the danger you were quick to shatter the cannibal’s skull and shove him off of you. “Adam,” you called out for your husband again, you stretched your arms out, ready to pull him into a tight, warm hug. A few steps in front of you he stopped though. It took you too long to register what had just happened and your brain only seemed to catch on when Adam's body hit the ground. He had fallen face forward, revealing the little demon girl that was now sitting on his back and that was happily holding onto the dagger that had just been rammed through Adam's chest. “NO,” you screamed, crawling over to the man you loved most. The grip on your halberd was far from steady and the pain fogged up your mind so much that you weren't able concentrate and use it properly, so instead of slicing that fucking whore in half, all you were able to accomplish was to poke her, maybe leave a scratch on her cheek.

However, it did the job and she got up, the little bastard happily walked over to where Charlie stood. “Adam, c’mon you fucking idiot,” you cried out once you had reached his body. Your physical pain was easy to ignore compared to the emotional pain you were feeling, so you sat down and pulled the brunette's head on your lap to steady him. “Please babe, you can fucking do this,” you ripped a huge piece of fabric from your robe and pressed it onto his still bleeding wound, panic filled your body.

What if…

“Don’t fucking leave me bitch, talk to me,” you were yelling and the sinners were watching, a thing you really couldn't care less about. “Fuck, babe, don't you dare and die on me,” you gently cupped his face with one hand, the other continued to press the fabric to Adam's chest in order to hopefully stop the bleeding. The sinners started to mumble, they were obviously talking about the both of you.

Adam turned his face slightly to look you in the eyes and all that he was able to manage was a smile. Fuck. “You’re not allowed to fucking die, you hear me? I-” you flinched when a hand came to rest on your shoulder in order to ground you. It was Lute who was standing behind you. She wasn't providing comfort, that much you knew. She was here to force you to leave. You shrugged her hand off of you forcefully, “Don’t fucking touch me, I'm not leaving him-” Lucifer interrupted you. “Yes you fucking are. You'll gather your fucking soldiers and you'll lead them back to heaven, right fucking now.”

You glanced down at Adam, who's eyes had fallen shut in the meantime and you couldn't help the tear that fell from your eye and rolled across your cheek. You were quick to wipe it away though. As gently as possible you moved Adam to lay on the ground. Lute reached for your arm in order to help you to get up and once she was sure you stood somewhat safely she bent down to grab Adam's halo.

You ripped that out of her hand faster than she was able to react. Usually she had a sharp tongue, this time she remained quiet though. Apparently she knew not to mess with you now.

You moved you wing a little to test the waters, the physical pain was numbed by the emotional pain you were going through and so you flew off, followed by all the angels that were still alive - compared to the amount of angels that had followed you from heaven to hell it was nothing though, so many soldiers had lost their lives.

Adam had lost his life.

-

Life in heaven without Adam was clearly not the same. Sera had seemed more grateful that the first man was finally gone than sad, fuck that stupid bitch.

It didn't take them long to heal your wounds once you were back in heaven, your leg sure had been a complicated case but only two weeks later it had been back to normal, well if you ignored the scar that was now wrapped around your thigh. But you didn't mind, how could you mind about something so small as a scar when you were dying inside more and more by every day that passed. There was no reason to care about the little things anymore. The only reason that had made you care before was gone for good now and the voices that kept telling you to visit hell weren't helping.

It had started one week after the extermination, one week after Adam had died. At first it had been subtle, just a tiny whisper every now and then, but as time passed they grew louder and louder until you weren't able to tune them out anymore.

You were sitting on the edge of the highest building in heaven and watched. You watched the lights and the angels, how everyone seemed so happy, how most of them didn't know. It seemed like everyone had just forgotten about your husband, that it was nothing, they acted like losing Adam for good was just a thing that they weren't gonna talk about because of him unimportant it was.

Fuck that.

-

The Hell Embassy was empty when you entered it, no angel ever went there because they wanted to - to be fair most of the time it had been Adam who had set foot in the building. You had accompanied him often enough to know about the elevator that went down there, it was used for Adam to travel down to hell safely when the yearly meeting with Lucifer popped up on his agenda.

You weren't sure why, you weren't sure what it was either but something was calling you, tempting you to use the elevator and go down to hell. Maybe it was so that you could say a proper goodbye to Adam? That had to be it. It probably wouldn't help much, why would it? But it was worth a shot. And you needed the voices compelling you to visit hell to shut up, it was unbearable being reminded about Adam's death daily.

The only angel in heaven that had offered to listen to you was Emily, the little girl had been quick to notice that something wasn't right, that something must've had happened. So you told her since Sera had decided that Emily's only task was to keep the people of heaven happy.

Another bullshit move from heaven, the kid was capable of more.

Once the elevator stopped and its doors opened in front of you, you stepped outside. You thought the voices would quiet down now that you were in hell, but the opposite was the case. The voices and whispers were louder than ever, they were almost screaming, yelling, crying out for you to step outside the Heaven Embassy.

You wanted to scratch your eyes out, rip your ears off, anything that would stop the voices from being so fucking loud. So you listened to them. You stepped outside the church-like building and your eyes roamed over the full streets of hell. There were people everywhere and none of them seemed to pay any mind to you.

Slowly you started to walk away from the building and once your foot stepped on the sidewalk the voices were gone. They didn't quiet down to a whisper, they straight up died, they were gone.

And then you saw him. A gigantic demon with fluffy brown hair, two huge, black horns were attached to his head and you were sure you noticed subtil golden highlights on them too. His face hadn't changed the slightest, he was still pale, maybe even a little paler than he had been as an angel. His eyes were still golden.

Your brain couldn't comprehend what was happening, what you were seeing.

You were seeing Adam.

You rushed over to him, flying faster than ever before. You tackled him to the ground, made sure you'd be the one hitting the ground in order not to hurt him. “Adam,” you whispered happily as you held the taller man tightly. The demon had tensed up at first but the second he had heard his name being spoken so softly, so lovingly, he eased up. “The fuck are you doing here, you crazy bitch,” he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. You didn't respond though, it would be too complicated to explain everything to him and you just got him back.

So instead you wrapped your wings around the both of you and kissed him softly, your hands in his soft, brown hair. The taller man groaned against your lips with pure delight, kissing you back just as passionate. “Dear God, I thought I'd have to die in order to kiss you like that again,” you mumbled against his lips. A soft chuckle rumbled through Adam at that and he pulled you even closer, “Knew it, you can't get enough of me.” You simply placed yet another kiss to his lips, “Correct, that's why I'm gonna stay here. With you.”

Adam froze at that, his arms around your body tightened a little, “You still wanna be with me?” The question seemed stupid to you, what was the man you had married thinking? Of course you still wanted to be with him. “When I was marrying you,” you began, a small kiss placed on his lips, “I vowed to you ‘Through thick and thin',” a quick kiss was pressed to Adam's cheek. “‘Through sickness and health, till death do us part’ and let me tell you babes,” you leaned in close, your lips softly brushed against his ear as you whispered, “We were already past that stage when we got married, I'm not giving you up because God decided to be a motherfucking bitch, that fucker can suck my dick, he won't take you away from me.”

At first Adam didn't respond, he just looked you in the eyes for a couple of seconds. Then he grabbed you by your collar, pulled you closer, closer, closer and hissed, “The only one allowed to suck your fucking dick am I, is that clear?”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #adam x y/n #adam x you #male reader #adam x reader

[navstuffs]

Hello, first of all, YOUR WRITING IS GOD’S WORK, second of all, I need a second part of “I know it’s thick”, bc that took me out 💀 It was fucking fantastic. And last but definitely not least, you seem very sweet, and like an amazing person, keep up the good work 🥰💕👏✨

"I know it is thick." - Part 2

Pairing: Boss!Carlos Oliveira x GN!Reader

Summary: It is thick, and now you know it.

Warnings tags: SMUT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE, blowjob (m receiving), public sex, under-the-desk blowjob while jill is in the room, porn with feelings (sorta), carlos always brazilian in my fics (foda-se capcom ESSE HOMI É DO BRASIL), translations at the bottom

Author's Notes: ANON YOU ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!! the idea came to me while reading your ask and i was like WHY NOT? again, bear with me since smut is still a constant work in progress. also thank you so much for your kind words and requesting with me, i hope i deliver! <;3 @cerezzzita aqui miga 💖

part 1 | my carlos's masterlist

You would never have guessed you would end up like this. You see, after sending that text message, you thought you would have been fired or sued for sexual harassment within Carlos's rights.

Not that by late Friday night, you would be doing extra work. And by that, it means your legs spread apart, holding yourself back in the cabinets of the stockroom as your boss Carlos pounds into you, his big hands holding your hips with such strength it would probably hurt tomorrow. Not that you cared: since this whole thing started three weeks ago, you have discovered you had muscles that ached that you didn't even know existed.

As Carlos's ball hit against your ass, the slapping sound sounding pornographic to your ears enough to drive you crazy, you hold onto the cold shelves, your legs barely keeping you steady. Every thrust he gives inside you is more powerful than the other, seeming to reach deeper into you. It had to be that thick cock, you thank mentally. 

"Are you close?" Carlos wonders, and you imagine his bare ass looks delicious, his social pants on the floor.

You moan a pathetic yes and beg Carlos to touch you, and his hands find you, jerking in that delicious way only he could do it. It is unfair how well Carlos knew your body, although this only started a couple of weeks ago.

Three weeks since you stayed late and found out it was really that thick and you could barely fit in your mouth. Three weeks since this man gave you the best orgasm of your life. Three weeks doing extra work time.

With the way he is rubbing you, you don't take long to cum, biting your lips and closing your eyes to hold back a moan. Carlos gives you two final thrusts before you hear him muttering a curse in portuguese as he cums deep inside your walls. You stay silent for a moment, just the sound of your breaths before Carlos pulls out of you, his semen slowly dropping out of you.

You take a second to straighten yourself, your back hurting (it seems you are taking another ibuprofen tomorrow), when you feel Carlos pass a cloth between your legs, cleaning you gently.

"Oh, mhm, thanks?" You say unsure, and he smiles, giving you his handkerchief, with his initials sewn on it.

Carlos stares at you, wanting to say something. You are a little worried about it might be: yes, what you are doing is wrong, and you both know it. You are worried Carlos might want to end this sooner than later; you know he will have to. Or maybe he will finally invite you out? Maybe, you will end up fucking Carlos in a proper bed, not on top or under his desk.

"I will see you later, then." Carlos doesn't wait for your answer, and you ignore the pain in your chest, his handkerchief just the memory he left on you (along, well, with his cum). Again, this would have to end someday, right? It was just sex.

Two days later, you are under Carlos's desk a little after everyone leaves. You see, you went in there to end it all before Carlos could but, somehow, ended up with you on top of his desk, his head on the middle of your thighs. The things Carlos could do with his tongue were skills out of this world, and suddenly you can't remember what you wanted to do here.

You just didn't want him to stop.

So now, you are just repaying for the multiple orgasms from earlier, you tell yourself as his thick cock hits the back of your throat. It had nothing to do with the fact that you loved sucking him, the sight of his strong and hairy tights, hearing Carlos beg for your name, and how this powerful man seemed to melt in your arms because of you.

There is a sudden knock on Carlos's door, and you both seem to freeze. You look up, and Carlos gives you an urgent look, his eyes pleading for you to stay shut. "Please don't say come in," you beg mentally, but the door opens before Carlos can say anything, just with enough time to pull out of your mouth.

"Oh, I am so glad you are still here." Carlos's partner and your other boss, Jill Valentine sounds pissed. Carlos immediately pushes the chair into you, completely hiding your body, causing his dick to get close to your lips.

Jill vents about the challenging project the whole team has been working on, and for your relief, she doesn't pay enough attention to Carlos. Carlos gently tries to keep your head away from his cock, but you don't move. When he looks down in panic, you would have laughed if you could because Carlos knew exactly what was going through your mind.

When you test by licking the tip of his cock Carlos has to hold himself back against the chair, Jill still doesn't seem to notice. You try again, this time swirling your tongue around it, and Carlos curses.

"Puta merda."

"Did you say something?" Jill wonders, and you hold back a laugh.

"Puta merda this project huh, Jill?"

Jill continues her rant as your head goes down into Carlos's cock, slowly and torturous. Your boss has to hold himself into the table, his knuckles turning white as a low whimper dies down in his throat. His hands look for your head, you don't know if to pull you away or push you more down, but you don't stop.

"....and I am telling you, if this doesn't get solved by the end of the week, I swear I will cancel this whole deal!"

"Puta que pariu!"

"Well, I am glad you agree with me!" Jill exclaims, slamming the table. She finally looks at Carlos, who is sweaty, his chest rising up and down as he bites his lips. 

"Carlos, are you okay? You look feverish."

"I-I am fine, Jill. All good. Just sh-sharing your frustrations, that is it."

Jill thinks she heard a strange, slurping noise after Carlos says that, but the sound stops. Her phone rings before she can ask what it is, and she groans, frustrated.

"You know, we shouldn't work this late. Life isn't just work, you know?" Jill expresses, before leaving his office, waving goodbye.

You can hear the door closing, and Carlos roughly pulls out of your mouth. You gulp, anxious, wondering if you finally took too far and Carlos will end it all, when your boss's face appears under the table to stare at you, full of desire.

"You want to play like that? Fine. Let's see how long it takes for you to gag on my cock." Carlos' voice is low and threatening, bringing chills all over your body, especially your heat.

"Challenge accepted, boss."

Puta merda = Holy shit

Puta que pariu = Holyfucking shit

#carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira x you #carlos oliveira smut #carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira fanfic #carlos oliveira fanfics #carlos oliveira imagine #carlos oliveira imagines #NOT that happy with this (so im sorry in advance anon) #i feel like i could have written much better #carlos cursing in portuguese makes me feel things #request #requests

[movienotesbyzawmer]

October 22: Friday the 13th - The Final Chapter

(previous notes: Friday the 13th Part 3)

I'm on movie number four in this eight movie project, and for the first time I'll be seeing one of these movies that I haven't ever seen before! When I do my watch-a-movie-and-take-notes projects, I generally do them for movies I've already seen before so that it's not too frustrating to simultaneously watch & type. But I'll make an exception for these Friday the 13th movies in light of the fact that they suck.

I remember this being out at my local theater in 1984, when I was 13, and even thinking it might be fun to see it, but I never got around to it.

It really must have been bittersweet for audiences at the time, knowing that this would be the final chapter. Each time they had a positive moment of enjoyment with this movie, they had to remember, "oh, I'm really going to miss this. It shall all be gone. Once the lights come back on, the days of new Friday the 13th movies will never return."

unless

Okay, watching this now for the first time ever.

Again beginning with a rehash. This time however, it's a montage of moments from the first two movies. Wait, now here's some of the third movie. But it's all framed by one of the monologues from the second movie. Much shorter and less of a cheap move than the last two movies did.

The title has a new title-plus-mask image… and then THE FINAL CHAPTER arrives to blow that image up with fire and splody-sounds!

The credits promise the likes of Corey Feldman and Crispin Glover, so that's exciting.

Okay, now it looks like we're at the ranch where the third one took place. They're hauling bodies out of the barn & other buildings. It looks like Jason's body is one of the bodies because hockey mask!

Actually, I think that first shot was a long-ish crane shot. Cinematically ambitious I guess.

We don't know yet what happened to the girl at the end of the last one. It's weird because this scene is at night, but the last movie ended with daytime paramedic activity at the ranch. I'm confused. Please help me. Please tell me that it will all be okay.

One of the covered up bodies has stirred! Jason is probably up to his not-be-dead-after-all tricks!

This scene is about a pair of frisky hospital workers in the "cold room" where there is at least one body, plus a television where the girl "just wants to watch the news". But 80s-style aerobics is what's really on the TV. And she kisses him after all and gets quite flirty, but then takes it all back because he is so insensitive or something. They show the aerobics a lot. It's all pelvic and prurient. Then Jason kills the guy with a bone saw and then goes and finds the girl and kills her with something else because diversity.

Then an abrupt cut to daytime joggers in the woods somewhere!

Now we are learning about the family of the joggers. They live in the country where there is a legend of a psycho, so I guess we're in the Crystal Lake area. The youngest child is Corey Feldman and his personality is "likes video games and wears a monster mask while playing them".

Now we are learning about the kids that rented a house across the street. Crispin Glover and another dude are in a car, talking about a girl and they clearly don't know how to have this kind of conversation, and the writers don't know how to pretend like they do so the other guy does a gag about how an invisible computer told him that CG is bad at sex. It is an unappealing intro to these characters. We even know there are a bunch of other people in the car, way too many honestly, but we don't get to know them. Just the two people who talk like broken robots about a woman.

Just to keep the mood where it ought to be, a hitchhiker they drove past gets impaled by Jason!

CF, a tweenager I should point out, is peeping-tom-ing at the canoodling couple in the rented house, and it is interesting to speculate as to whose idea it was for him to act the way he does when he watches them. He bounces excitedly and slams his head repeatedly into a pillow. Whose idea.

Now there's a skinny dipping scene. They definitely have arrived to the point in the series where they feel it's important to show pretty girls without any clothes.

For some reason, CF and the adult older sister drove to where the skinny dipping was happening, but they bolted when they realized that's what it was. There is ch ch ch ch ch ha ha ha ha ha on them as they have car trouble in the woods as they head home, plus also as two of the swimmers are hanging out. But they both turn out to be fakeouts! No one is dying at all! At least we'll always have the hitchhiker. They can't take that away from us.

The fakeout with the CF subplot is that it was just some handsome man that comes along to help. He says he is this deep in the woods because he is hunting for bear. CF totally calls him out! There's no way he's hunting for bear! No one is just like "it is bear hunting season and I am enjoying some leisurely bear hunting time". CF is no fool.

They decide to take Bear Hunter in as a guest for perhaps the afternoon. Because of the bubble of this movie, CF shows the Bear Hunter his monster toys and Bear Hunter shares in his enthusiasm.

0:37:13 - Now we are choking down this awkward scene where the young people are hanging out in their house trying to deliver dialogue that is not consistent with normal human psychology. The gist is that the men want to be sexual with the women but there are subtle social obstacles.

!!! Crispin Glover really is interesting! His screen presence absolutely towers above the rest of the cast, when he reacts unfavorably to being teased. But seriously all these interactions are so painful.

For our next murder project, we have an inflatable boat made of thin, vulnerable rubber for a person to get stabbed through. It requires assuming that Jason's magic powers allow him to just hide under water, waiting for a naked lady to lie down in the boat at night. This project was completed on time and under budget.

Seriously, the most terrifying scenes in this movie are the ones where the sexually frustrated young adults are hanging out and attempting to use words.

Another death just happened because the boyfriend of the recently-killed naked lady went to check on her, found her dead, then was Jason'd with some implements that I couldn't really understand. Something with a handle shoved into him somehow. It is filmed weirdly and then we just move on to Bear Hunter, camping nearby.

This is a disturbing turn… we're back on the uninteresting young adults, and one of them announces that he has found something very interesting! We see that it is old movie reels. They start watching them. It's old, old film of naked people. They laugh and laugh and laugh. Maybe this is art?

Pretty cool visual with this next death, we just see the shadow of Jason coming at her and killing her with a something. Looks cool as a shadow thing, plus it isn't "those stupid characters talking" which is a HUGE bonus.

We're back to CF's family; Mom saw something that startled her but we don't know what, and CF and Big Sister are… driving home in the car? Where were they, why did they drive somewhere, I forget. Maybe they had to run into town to pick up a packet of it-doesn't-matter-we-just-needed-Mom-to-be-alone.

Just like that, Older Sister went looking for Mom, but ends up taking shelter from the rain in Bear Hunter's tent. Bear Hunter, in a very predictable fakeout, slashes a hole in the tent because what is she doing in there anyway.

But we cut back to the young adults and CG gets a very ugly death! He's all "hey where's the corkscrew" and Jason makes his hand be corkscrewed and makes his face be stabbed!

Then he kills one of the other young adults just right afterward by being outside her second floor bedroom window and pulling her out the window SO HARD. Seriously it must be a hard job coming up with different ways to kill them, give them a break.

Back to Bear Hunter; he's fessing up to his true motive which is to hunt Jason. His story is hard to believe, and Big Sister is taking it in very diplomatically.

The one guy in the group of the young adults who is the biggest asshole is also the one most amused by the old films. We see them a lot, these old films they are watching. It is the silent era's version of soft core porn - women dancing naked. Anyway, the asshole's death happens when he gets the idea to be close to the projector screen, enabling Jason to stab him through it and making it look kind of cool and be a scene that ends with the projector-still-running cadence.

New death - guy is taking a post-coital shower and Jason comes in and shoves his arm through the sliding glass shower door thing and very effectively crushes the guy's head against the wall. Then the girlfriend comes in and discovers him; she runs down to the front door, but she can't open it, she just can't open it, it just won't open, and it ends with somehow Jason axe-killing her through the door from outside. They don't show it very well and no one probably ever clearly explained to anyone how it was supposed to work.

1:09:20 - This is followed immediately by a scene that is also poorly choreographed - Bear Hunter returns with Big Sister but it's a fakeout because for some reason they break the glass of the side door to get in, even though CF is right there. They are all frightened as if they know about deaths happening, even though they don't know about the deaths. It's just that the power has been spotty; that’s why things are urgent, as far as they know.

They decide to investigate the house where the young adults are staying. They are gingerly surveying the living room, and they walk right by where the projector screen murder happened, but they see no evidence of that crime.

1:11:55 - Bear Hunter tells the big sister "you stay right here with Corey". I'm pretty sure that just happened. I think he was referring to CF, whose character is not named Corey and who also is not with them.

In a shocking piece of non-linear storytelling, a dog jumps out a window in slow motion. Art. ART.

Jason kills Bear Hunter right in front of Big Sister, and even though his mission in life has been to hunt Jason, Bear Hunter doesn't even fight him off, he just begs Big Sister to run as Jason pounds on him. Big sister does run, but each of the house's exits has a dead person surprise that's too scary for her to go past so she's stuck inside with Jason!

But CF has heard her screaming and comes across the street to be with her. Oh but wait, I think they are actually now back at their house. I missed how that happened. That chase ends with a moment where she has reason to think she might have killed him by hitting him pretty hard with a cathode ray television set with an approximately 15" screen. But no, he changes back from almost-dead to regular-Jason and chases them around some more.

1:21:45 - They must have felt like their secret weapon for this movie was slo-mo thrown-through-a-window situations because Big Sister ends a portion of being chased by Jason by throwing herself through a window and landing painfully on the ground outside. Jason's all "you won this round Big Sister, but I'll be back. This is not The Final Chapter of this story!"

Everyone seems to have wound up back at the young adults' house, and CF has come up with an ingenious idea - he shaves his head to confuse Jason! Then he and Big Sister stab Jason a lot and it's all very gory and climactic.

The way the movie ends is that Jason's body twitches a little on the ground after they mostly kill him, and CF freaks out and stabs Jason many many, many more times! Cut to later on when Big Sister is in a hospital bed being told it will all be okay by some Caucasian men in white coats. They suggest that CF was pretty crazy for a minute there but that will pass. CF comes to give her a hug… but he looks scary! You guys, look, he looks scary! The big finish is that CF has a sinister look on his face. Cut to credits.

We never saw what happened to the Mom. Or the main girl from Part 3. Also it seems like there were some other young adults that just stopped being in the movie. How dare they.

Okay so I am halfway through this ridiculous project. I have watched four of the eight Friday the 13th movies. I watched them all by myself at my home during the COVID-19 pandemic. These challenging times I tell you.

(next: Friday the 13th - A New Beginning)

#friday the 13th

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Learn Your Place

Charles Blackwood X Dom!Reader Charles was in position, just like she’d asked him to be, except he’d stripped down completely, sitting bare before them. 

a/n:this is part 3 to the little Dom/Sub series I start, Just Give In, and Absolutely Devastating can be read here! it’s just porn once again

Charles had a feeling that Y/N was going to invite Steve over for lunch, he’d heard her discussing things on the phone with him.  He didn’t argue though, Y/N deserved to spend time with her friends, especially ones she hadn’t seen in so long.  He offered to make them lunch, something light but also filling.  Lemonade was sitting inside the fridge, cooling as Charles mixed together the pasta salad.

“Darling, make sure you eat, Steve and I have big plans for you.” Y/N was grinning, resting back against the chair she’d perched herself in.

“Yes miss.” Charles nodded, plating two portions for Y/N and Steve, and a smaller portion for himself.

If Y/N promised him what she’d brought up the night before, Charles would need to fill his stomach.  Y/N didn’t go easy on him, and with someone on the promise of watching, Charles needed to be on his best behavior.

He set down the plates onto the table, going over to the fridge and pulling out the pitcher of lemonade for them to enjoy with lunch.  Charles didn’t dare look at Steve while they ate, though he was to eat and prepare the room once he was finished.

He’d learned that Steve was also a Dom, teaching Y/N different ways to praise Charles whenever he pleased her, and proper ways to punish him.  Things were going alright so far, he’d done his chores without complaint, and made sure Steve was waited on whenever he was needed.

Y/N was preening as Charles cleaned up their plates after they’d finished, washing the dishes quickly.  They sipped their lemonade, watching Charles with close eyes as his shoulders grew tense.

“Charles, why don’t you go into the bedroom and get into position, Steve and I will join you shortly.” Y/N waited for his acknowledgement, smiling softly when he pressed a kiss to her cheek and ventured off.

Steve listened for the sound of shuffling clothes, knees landing on the floor as Charles got down into his position.

“You’ve trained him well, much more behaved than when we first met.” Steve finished off his lemonade, gaze landing back on Y/N.

“He’s learned his lesson, I had to punish him a couple days ago for what he pulled.” Y/N had grown up with Steve, and learned how to properly take care of her sub.

Charles was her personal favorite, he lived to please her, no matter if it meant he got nothing in return.  That didn’t mean she was a cruel Dom towards the man, she never delivered a punishment unless it was deserved.  Aftercare was an absolute must, and safewords were necessary at all times.  If Charles ever used his safe word, Y/N would stop immediately and bring him back down to make sure he was alright.  

Which is why Charles was currently inside their bedroom, hands folded behind his back as he knelt at the end of the bed.  Why was he so nervous?  It wasn’t as if they were doing something out of the ordinary.  No, it was because Steve was joining them today, he was going to see how good Y/N could make him feel.

Y/N glanced over at Steve for a brief moment, curious if the other man’s presence scared Charles in any way.  He practically exuded dominance over anyone who even so much as looked at him.  Shoulders wide, muscles practically bulging out of the shirt and jacket he wore.

“Shall we get started?” Y/N stood up from the table, taking their glasses to set into the sink.

“Lead the way.” Steve smiled as he stood, following Y/N as she headed down to her bedroom.

Charles was in position, just like she’d asked him to be, except he’d stripped down completely, sitting bare before them.

“Why don’t you have a seat Steven, while I get started.” Y/N picked up the silk rope that Charles had chosen, tying his wrists together first.

Each knot was different, effectively keeping his arms firmly behind his back as he waited for the next instruction.  He needed to impress Y/N’s friend, he’d already disappointed her before, he couldn’t do that again.

Charles couldn’t help the way he’d gotten hard, achingly so, as she finished tying the knots together.  He could feel the rope sliding against his skin, leaving behind the faintest of marks as Y/N stepped over to their closet.  His legs began to shake, sweat beading up over the expanse of his skin as Steve watched him.

“Now baby, Steve here’s gonna watch us play together, that sounds fun right?” Y/N stepped back over to where he was, setting down the flogger beside his head.

“Yes miss, thank you miss.” Though Charles’ voice was quiet, there was no denying how utterly turned on he was.

“I’m going to give you ten spanks, what do you say if it gets to be too much?” She’d picked up the flogger, waiting for his words before continuing.

“Daisy.” Charles shuddered as she ran the smooth leather against his skin.

Y/N nodded, smiling softly as she swung her wrist quickly, the smack! echoing throughout the room.  Charles’ skin flushed almost immediately, blush rushing to the surface as she delivered two more smacks right after the first.  His hands were clenched into tight fists, moans slipping through his lips before he could stop them.

The pain mixed easily with the pleasure coursing through his veins like a drug.  Charles was an addict, and Y/N was the drug he needed so badly.  Each smack was harder than the last, leaving behind marks that would last for the next two weeks at least.  He’d wear them with pride though, happily reveling in what Y/N gave to him.

“You’re doing so good for me baby, you think you can do five more?  Show Steve what a good boy you can be?” Charles nodded, clenching his fists even tighter, needing to please Y/N.

She smiled deviously, raining down five more smacks that were harsher each time, if he didn’t have bruises before, he’d definitely have them now.

“Don’t think I’ve heard him whimper even once, I must say Y/N, I’m kind of jealous.” Steve’s voice sounded distant, almost as if he was talking through a tunnel.  

Charles was slowly slipping into the mental space he craved, where he would simply do what made Y/N happy.

“Oh believe me, everyone’s jealous that I have him.  They’ve always seen him as this big strong dominant, if they only knew what he really was.” Y/N delivered one final smack, running the leather over his heated skin.

“Beautiful.” Steve’s voice had taken on a gruff note, and why was it turning Charles on so much?

Y/N knelt down beside him, rubbing aloe onto the skin she’d just been abusing.  He didn’t care if she’d forgone it this time, making Charles deal with the pain.

“Now, you’re going to be a good boy and do as I ask, correct?” Y/N pulled Charles back so he was sitting up on his knees, eyes glazed over.

“Yes miss.” Steve raised a brow at the way they worked together, he’d never seen a sub so compliant before.

“Why don’t you have some dessert?” Y/N pushed her panties off from beneath her dress, settling down onto the bed so Charles could reach her easily.

He’d gotten her off with his mouth and hands plenty of times in the past, it was one of his favorite things to do.  Only, he had no access to his hands, which meant he was only allowed to use his mouth.

“Yes miss, thank you miss.” Charles waited until she pulled up her dress, lavishing kisses along the inner part of her thighs, little kitten licks following the same path.

Y/N didn’t hold back her moans, letting them into the air of their bedroom.  Charles knew exactly how to get her off quickly using only his mouth, but he wanted to make this better for her.  Y/N gripped his hair tightly, head thrown back as Charles ran his tongue from her entrance up to her clit.  She was practically dripping onto sheets below, making a mess that Charles would clean up later.

He could hear Steve lighting up a cigar behind them, a quiet chuckle as Charles renewed his efforts and suckled onto her clit.  Pleasure was building in Y/N’s stomach, thighs shaking around Charles’ head as she struggled to hold on.

“You’re always so good with your mouth baby, making me feel so wonderful.” She pulled harshly on his hair as his tongue slipped inside her.

Charles simply moaned, proving he could make her feel good under any circumstances.  Y/N’s orgasm took her by surprise, slick dripping down Charles’ chin as he lapped it up quickly.

“Fuck, such a good boy for me.” Y/N’s legs were shaking, pulling Charles back so he could breathe properly.

Charles glanced up at her, smiling proudly as he realized that he’d brought her that much pleasure.  Smoke from Steve’s cigar lingered in the air as Y/N pushed herself off the bed, ignoring the way Charles watched her walk away.

“Would you like to have a try at him?  He’s been especially well behaved today.” It was obvious that Y/N was still affected by the orgasm that Charles had given her.

“Maybe not today, I’m simply here to enjoy the show.” Y/N nodded, walking back over to Charles.

He preened when she pressed a kiss to his lips, tasting herself on his mouth.  She’d made Charles taste his cum before, watching his expression when he’d realized what had happened.  Ever since, he couldn’t get enough of the pleasure it gave Y/N.

“I’m going to untie you baby, and you’re going to show Steve how good you can make me feel.” Charles nodded, biting back the whine that wanted so desperately to escape.

She went about untying the knots carefully, one wrong move could cause actual damage to Charles, and she didn’t want that to happen. 

Once all of the rope was off, laying haphazardly on the floor, Charles set about undressing Y/N entirely.  Her dress hit the floor, followed by her bra, and lastly her stockings.  Charles could hardly ignore the aching throb between his legs as he watched Y/N crawl onto the mattress.

He didn’t disobey and follow immediately though, not unless he wanted a proper punishment to happen, though the thought flitted through his mind quickly.  Surely she wouldn’t get too angry with him if he mounted her on the bed, it was what she wanted after all.

“Come here darling, don’t make me wait.” Charles crawled onto the bed, fitting himself between Y/N’s splayed legs happily, the head of his cock catching against her opening.

“He’s bigger than I expected him to be, subs are always so small.” Steve sounded shocked, watching as Charles pulled Y/N’s waist closer to his own.

“Why do you think he was so confident before.” She winked over at Steve, pressing a gentle hand against Charles’ chest.

He waited for instruction, never disobeying what Y/N wanted him to do.  She gestured with her hands for him to get on his back, their typical position.  Most people would think it meant Charles was too lazy to do any work.  However, that wasn’t the case at all, it helped get Y/N off before him, starving off his own orgasm in the process.

Charles laid back, suddenly realizing that Steve had a perfect view from where he had perched himself.  He’d be able to watch Y/N ride Charles for all he was worth, getting the pleasure she utmost deserved.

“You know the rules baby, no cumming before I do or else.” Charles nodded quickly, gently holding onto her hips as she settled over his thighs.

“Yes miss.” Y/N smirked and slid down his cock, moaning as his girth stretched her deliciously.

Charles was already having trouble focusing, the pain from the bruises on his ass were sparking each time she bounced down against his hips.  It was a pleasurable pain though, he wasn’t going to complain over it.

“Feels good, doesn’t it baby?” Y/N’s voice was breathy, hips rocking as she chased her orgasm.

“Yes!” Charles threw his head back against the bed, squeezing her waist tighter.

Smoke billowed out from Steve’s lips as he watched them, eyes taking in every detail he could keep in his memory.  The way Y/N’s hips were grinding down against Charles’, sweat dripping down her skin.  The way Charles seemed to tighten his grip every time Y/N moved her hips closer to his.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” Charles was struggling to hold on, to keep his orgasm at bay and please both Y/N and Steve.

“Just a second longer!” Y/N slammed her hips down against Charles’, screaming as her orgasm overtook all senses.

Charles felt the way her body tightened further, thighs quaking as she continued to grind her hips against his.  His mind was screaming at him not to cum, she hadn’t given him permission to cum yet.

“Why don’t you cum for me baby, show Steve just how good I make you feel.” Charles could no longer hold on, cumming deep inside of Y/N as his entire body shook atop the bed.

She giggled softly, slowing her hips to a soft roll as Charles’ consciousness came back down to earth.  Steve hadn’t moved from his chair, cigar hanging from his fingers as he watched Y/N slide off of his lap.

“He’ll be floating for a little while, always does.” Y/N sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling Charles into her lap to cuddle him.

He was completely boneless, relaxing in her arms as if he was no more than a rag doll to help keep her warm.  His hair was probably a mess from Y/N running her fingers through it, he still wasn’t going to complain though, that was the best orgasm he’d ever had.

“You feel alright baby?” Y/N kept running her fingers through his hair, making sure he wouldn’t come to by himself.

“Yes miss, very relaxed right now.” Charles yawned softly, exhaustion creeping up on him.

“Go ahead and take a nap sweetheart, Steve and I will be here when you wake up.” Y/N pressed her hand against his cheek gently, running a finger over the stubble that had grown in.

He could barely nod, falling asleep content and happy in Y/N’s lap.  He couldn’t wait to see what the future brought for them.

#charles blackwood #charles blackwood fic #charles blackwood fics #charles blackwood imagine #charles blackwood one shot #charles blackwood smut #charles blackwood x you #charles blackwood x reader #charles blackwood x y/n #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #we have always lived in the castle

[gaygent37]

Splish and Splash - Day 21

No-Set-Prompt-List-tober, October 21: MONSTER

JayDickTim, tentacle monster Jason, siren Dick, human Tim, plot without porn because I got lazy, fluff and cuddling, 996 words

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“Did you finish your homework, Dami?” Dick asked, knocking on the door of Damian’s bedroom. 

“None of your business, Grayson,” Damian grunted. 

“Hey, don’t talk to your dad like that, brat,” Tim snapped, poking his head out of the bathroom across the hall.

Damian’s scoff was clear from inside his room. “He’s not my dad, Drake, and neither are you.”

Dick just shook his head and sighed. “Just asking,” he said before turning to Tim, smiling at his mate. “He’s just being difficult, you know that,” he murmured. “Don’t worry about him.”

“I know,” Tim grumbled. “But I can’t help it. He’s been a pain in my ass for years now.”

Dick laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Tim’s head. Tim and Damian had gone to the same school, though they were four years apart in age. Damian had skipped a year when he was younger, so he was just starting high school the same year Tim was graduating. 

It was also that same year that Dick and Jason accepted Tim, a human, into their already strange mating situation, and only a few months later that they took Damian in. 

“C’mon, let’s go to bed,” Dick said, putting an arm around Tim’s waist. Tim nodded and put his hands on Dick’s hips, pulling them together and leaning in for a kiss.

Damian’s door opened right then and the teenager stalked out, he heading for the kitchen, but he stopped, glaring at how close Dick and Tim were standing. 

“Get your greedy hands off of my guardian, Drake,” Damian snarled. 

Tim glared at him. “Your guardian is also my boyfriend, kid!”

“Now, now,” Dick said with a sigh. 

Damian turned his nose up at Tim. “Well, he’s too good for you, you mere human.” Then, he stalked away. 

Tim sputtered. “You’re human too, idiot!”

Dick just smiled fondly and pulled Tim into the kiss they had been interrupted from. Tim moaned softly in surprise, his tongue accepting Dick’s tongue into his mouth. 

Dick’s hands slipped under Tim’s t-shirt, grabbing onto bare skin. 

Just then, there was a pounding on the thick glass underneath their feet. 

They both looked down to see Jason staring up at them, looking mildly jealous. 

Dick laughed, and they stepped off of the trapdoor. Using a couple of his tentacles, Jason pushed the door up and pulled himself out of the ocean and into their house. He reached over and grabbed a towel, immediately starting to pat himself dry.

“Getting started without me?” Jason asked with a grin.

“No,” Dick said. “We were just going to go cuddle while waiting for you to come back!”

“Uh-huh,” Jason said, drawing his tentacles in from out of the water. His tentacles curled around Dick and Tim’s ankles, anchoring them there.

“Clingy, much?” Tim teased. 

Jason rolled his eyes, but he smiled. “Don’t get mouthy with me, now, Timbo, lest I punish you.”

“Oh, no, I’m terrified!” Tim mocked, leaning now and puckering his lips. “I want my kiss.”

Jason dutifully delivered one to Tim, then turned to Dick, who also leaned down for a kiss. Then, Jason closed the trapdoor and stood up, his tentacles morphing into legs. Jason forced himself between Dick and Tim, putting an arm around each of his mates.

“Shall we?” he asked. Then, he paused. “Wait, where’s Damian?”

“In the kitchen,” Dick said, leaning his head on Jason’s shoulders. 

“At this time of night?” Jason asked, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Probably raiding your cookies,” Tim added. 

“That brat,” Jason grumbled. 

“Jason!” Dick said with a laugh. “He’s your son!”

“Ward,” Jason pointed out. “I’m too young to have a son his age.”

They made it to the bedroom, which had an extra large bed, enough for all three of them. Dick belly-flopped onto it, then turned over to pull Tim down next to him. Jason sat down first, then pulled the covers back, letting his mates crawl under the covers before him.

Then, he slipped underneath the blankets to join them.

“Mmm, I’ve missed you today, Jay,” Dick said. “And you too, Timmy. It’s quiet here when no one’s around.”

“You can go swimming,” Jason said softly, his legs melting into a mass of tentacles and tangling in with both Dick and Tim’s legs. “Or flying.”

“I know, but I don’t want to leave our home,” Dick whispered fearfully. “I... If I leave, I’m scared i won’t want to come back.”

“Oh, baby,” Jason murmured. “You’re a bird, Dickie! Well, half bird, but still! You need some freedom.”

“Yeah,” Tim added, pressing his lips to the back of Dick’s neck and wrapping his arms around the siren. “We know you’ll come back to us. You feel too much responsibility to leave us forever.”

Dick was still unsure. “It was so hard for me to relinquish my freedom to be with you in the first place, Jay. If- If I get a taste of that again-”

“Dick,” Tim sighed. “You’re not going to leave us. Have some faith in yourself!”

Dick made an unhappy noise and snuggled into the bed, glad that he was in the middle of his two mates. However, he needed a subject change. “How was your test today, Timmy?” he murmured, rolling over to face the human.

Tim smiled. “It went really well! I got a perfect score.”

“Of course you did,” Jason said fondly. “You’re as much of an overachiever as the brat is.”

“Don’t lump me with that little demon,” Tim said. But his eyes still glittered with pride. Being in his first year of college, Tim was rather nervous about how he would do. It turned out he settled in just perfectly fine. 

“And you, Jay? How was work?”

“Exhausting, as usual,” Jason said. “But it’s alright. I’m back home now, with the two loves of my life.”

“We love you too, Jay,” Dick said with a smile, turning his head at a scary angle to press a brief kiss to Jason’s lips. 

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No porn, but I hope it was alright anyway.

#jaydicktim #monster #day 21 #gaygent doesn't follow a set prompt list

[chiseler]

The Weeder in God’s Garden

A moral crusader from his early years, Anthony Comstock was born in New Canaan, Connecticut in 1844. His father, Thomas, was a prosperous farmer who also owned two sawmills. While the family had plenty of money, it was through the influence of Comstock’s fervent Congregationalist mother Polly, who like her husband had descended from Puritan stock, that the seven Comstock children led very austere lives marked by hard work, religious instruction, and precious little fun. Among his siblings, Anthony was the only one who clung fiercely to his mother’s fire and brimstone sensibilities. Polly died when Anthony was ten, but by then he knew full well Satan was a very real force in the world, and the only way to stay right with God was to remain pure in thought and deed, resisting the ever-present temptations presented by the Prince of Lies. Alcohol, tobacco, gambling and especially sex were all tickets straight to Hell, a belief he inflicted on everyone around him. This made him, no doubt, a very annoying child.

As a student in the local public school, Comstock never got a firm grasp on reading or spelling, which he considered useless anyway. He also found his growing sense of moral outrage enflamed by his fellow students, those godless little miscreants, who among other things would surreptitiously pass around ads for packs of those French playing cards with the pictures of the girls on them. No, the only education he needed he learned through the Old Testament stories his mother had read him, those tales of a vengeful God and the awful fate awaiting sinful, wicked men who ally themselves with the forces of evil.

When the Civil War broke out, Comstock, then 19, volunteered for the union army and was packed off to Florida. Much to his horror, he quickly discovered that certain Northern businesses, hoping to ease the burden of those proud soldiers willing to sacrifice everything in defense of, well, whatever it was, were in the habit of delivering shipments of not only whiskey and tobacco to the camps, but pornography as well. Although he saw precious little action, he immediately became an enormous pain in the ass to the fellow soldiers in his regiment. Forget about the Confederate army—it was the smoking, drinking, cursing and gambling among those in camp with him that would prove their downfall, and he let them know it on a daily basis. He would claim in his diary to have converted two or three of his fellow soldiers to the ways of righteousness, promising Comstock they would neither drink nor chew tobacco for the duration of the war. But given the evidence of his diary entries, it seems Comstock’s own wartime vice was porn.

In a 1863 diary entry he wrote: “Again tempted and found wanting…Sin, sin. Oh how much peace and happiness is sacrificed on thy altar.” Other entries make it clear the early morning temptations he failed to resist took the form of self abuse.

(In psychological terms, as history has shown time and again, Comstock’s weakness for porn is hardly a shock considering his coming crusade.)

Comstock was not exactly a wholly freelance operator when it came to his wartime proselytizing. He allied himself with The Christian Commission, a project spearheaded by the YMCA which sent missionaries to the front in order to try and save the souls of both Confederate and Union soldiers. His association with the Christian Commission would prove very profitable in the years following the war.

After leaving the army, Comstock moved to New York and took a job at a dry goods store in Manhattan. While most commentators seem baffled by Comstock’s decision to move to the very heart of American vice, a growing dirty metropolis where taverns, gambling join’s, contraceptive devices, prostitutes and erotic literature were all plentiful and accessible, his motivation as a crusader made the move an obvious one. If your self-appointed mission is to stamp out vice, then you go where the vice is.

And sure enough, the bookseller next door to the dry goods store where Comstock worked, a Mr. Conroy, did a brisk business selling pornographic pictures and erotica to those heathens deaf to the word of the Lord. Understandably outraged by this, Comstock entered the store, purchased an obscene book, brought it straight to the police and then led them to the man who sold it to him.

Although the police took Conroy into custody, the bookseller was soon free again and back to his godless business. Every time Comstock demanded the smut merchant be arrested, he was freed again in a matter of hours, convincing Comstock (and correctly) the cops were in cahoots with the city’s purveyors of vice, though this epiphany in no way tempered his holy mission.  

Entrapment not being a major legal roadblock in the late 19th century, Comstock would use the same technique—making an illicit purchase, then fingering the seller—to wage his one-man war om smut peddlers throughout the city.

His tireless crusade soon not only earned Comstock coverage in the local papers, in 1872 it also brought him to the attention of the founders of the YMCA. It was the YMCA’s Christian Commission, after all, which had pushed for an amendment to the 1865 postal bill making it a misdemeanor to send obscene material through the mail. Impressed by Comstock’s efforts to eradicate vice, the YMCA’s brass began introducing the young zealot to a number of wealthy and powerful men around the city who who likewise felt something needed to be done about New York’s shocking moral degradation. Comstock seemed to be just the reformist warrior they were looking for. With their financial backing and political connections supporting him, Comstock founded The New York Society for the Suppression of Vice.

Under the guise of the NYSSV, and with the enthusiastic encouragement of local and federal politicians, wealthy conservatives, and evangelicals, Comstock expanded his efforts, demanding the confiscation of not only blatantly pornigraphic materials and the arrest of those who sold them, but the banning of books, artwork and plays he deemed obscene, though his definition of “obscene” was so broad and so vague it essentially boiled down to “anything Comstock didn’t like.” Over the years this would include medical textbooks, classic literature and newspaper editorials condemning his campaign. The efforts to ban works of art and literature willy-nully came to be known, in a term generally if inaccurately attributed to George Bernard Shaw, as “Comstockery.”

Although Comstock did have any number of outspoken enemies around town, especially among early civil libertarians and women’s rights groups, no one seemed capable of stopping, or even curtailing, his efforts. Because of this, his sense of personal invincibility grew, as did his political clout. People were scared to death of him, even if they hated him and everything he stood for. Cross Comstock, and you could find yourself in prison for sending a Mother’s Day card.

It’s been argued that Comstock’s war on obscene material was, at it’s core, really a war against contraception and abortion, given he argued that the reading of obscene materials inevitably led to the sort of behavior that would bring contraception and abortion into play. Inspired by the 1865 postal law, with the help of his political backers, in 1873 what came to be known as The Comstock Act was passed. The law not only forbade sending obscene material through the mail, but any product or information related to contraception or abortion. Three years later, the Comstock Act (aka The Comstock Law) was amended, its powers greatly expanded. The amended version read:

"Every obscene, lewd, or lascivious book, pamphlet, picture, paper, writing, print or other publication of an indecent character, and every article or thing designed or intended for the prevention of conception or procuring of abortion, and every article or thing intended or adapted for any indecent or immoral use, and every written or printed card, circular, book, pamphlet, advertisement, or notice of any kind giving information, directly or indirectly, where, or how, or of whom, or by what means, any of the hereinbefore mentioned matters, articles, or things may be obtained or made, and every letter upon the envelope of which, or postal card upon which, indecent, lewd, obscene, or lascivious delineations, epithets, terms, or language may be written or printed, are hereby declared to be non-mailable matter, and shall not be conveyed in the mails, nor delivered from any post-office, nor by any letter-carrier.”

After the Act was passed, Comstock was made a Special Agent of the US Postal Service, a position that gave him police powers and the right to carry a gun. Although he received no pay as a postal inspector, it was a position he undertook with gusto, as it granted him the power to make his own arrests without bringing those corrupt cops into it. Returning to the same technique he first used to nab that smut peddler Conroy, Comstock, under a false name, would order material through the mail that was covered under his namesake law, and upon receiving it, would order the arrest of the seller, who would then be charged with a federal offense. This included the publisher of anatomy textbooks, two journalists who had written a piece about the sexual improprieties of a well-known religious figure, even one activist who, as a test, had sent some of the Bible’s racier passages through the mail.

In Charles Gallaudet’s 1913 biography, Anthony Comstock, Fighter: Some Impressions of a Lifetime Adventure in Conflict with the Powers of Evil, Comstock would boast he had destroyed 284,000 pounds of printing plates used to create obscene books, 15 tons worth of printed material, nearly 100,000 “articles made of rubber for immoral purposes,” and millions of pornographic images.

It’s also been rumored, and I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if it was true, that in the process of destroying all that material, Comstock quietly squirreled away a massive secret personal library of confiscated books and images, which he would freely share with his wealthy and powerful friends

By his own account, Comstock arrested some four thousand people over the course of his four-decade career as a “weeder in God’s garden,” as he termed himself. Of these, no case received more press than the arrest of D.M. Bennett, a Free Thinker and publisher of The Truth Seeker magazine. As noted in its first issue, the magazine sought to promote "science, morals, free thought, free discussions, liberalism, sexual equality, labor reform progression, free education, and whatever tends to elevate and emancipate the human race." This, needless to say, did not include religious zealots or self-righteous political opportunists, and so found itself in Comstock’s crosshairs.

Comstock had Bennett arrested for both sending a pamphlet advocating Free Love through the mail, and fore writing an editorial for his magazine entitled “An Open Letter to Jesus Christ.” At the close of the highly-publicized trial, Bennett was found guilty and  sentenced to thirteen months in prison for violating The Comstock Act.

Comstock was also mighty proud his efforts had driven at least fifteen lost souls (again by his own reckoning) to commit suicide. One was an abortionist who’d been arrested for giving a bottle of pills to Comstock, after he approached her claiming to be the husband of a woman whose current pregnancy was putting her life at risk. Another was Ida Craddock, the author of several explicit marriage manuals, who was arrested after mailing them to her naive and confused customers. Craddock killed herself the day before reporting to federal prison, leaving behind a blistering note condemning Comstock and his supporters.

Comstock’s final arrest and court case came in January of  1915, when he arrested Bill Sanger, husband of pioneering feminist and contraception-rights activist Margaret Sanger, for distributing her pamphlet “Family Limitation.” Like most of those targeted by Comstock, Sanger was found guilty.

Although Comstock took aim at some worthwhile targets in his war on vice, including medical quackery and economic fraud, he will always be remembered as America’s foremost book-burner, a man whose influence would linger for half a century after his 1915 death. His postmortem influence over what Americans could and could not legally read or see would only be broken in June of 1964, when the Supreme Court ruled Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer was not obscene.

Yeah, Anthony Comstock was a real asshole, a man utterly incapable of minding his own goddamn business. But like Joe McCarthy he still has his ardent supporters among the pro-life and evangelical set, pinch-faced types who pine for the days when abortionists were jailed and books they didn’t understand were burned. In fact one of Comstock’s devotees recently published a graphic novel based on the 1913 biography, which itself was turned into a crudely animated film for those True Believers who remain as illiterate as Comstock himself.

by Jim Knipfel

[dog-day-morning]

THIS AIN'T LEGAL

Have you ever heard of absolute immunity? Federal officers who violate the Civil Rights of American citizens in an attempt to do harm with recorded video evidence of the violation in action or officers who willingly falsify a police report of a violent attack in order to frame the victim while the antagonist sits before a judge and jury perjuring herself with alligator tears before an all white jury with her blonde locks, and blue eyes, damn devil, and goes free while an innocent child spends 17 months behind bars. To say that Amerikkka is unjust is an understatement. Too many times Black people are dragged into a court that's already biased, having to face a judge, and jury who may have a vested financial interest in the private prison industry, but let's be real. The school to prison pipeline is not a myth, it's a bloody bruise on the face of Lady Liberty. Liberty, and justice for all never applied to the indigenous people of Amerikkka or any of the ADOS, and FBA citizens whose roots are entrenched in the Earth bleeding from a wound the wicked do not want to heal. The above mentioned scenarios actually happened to one of your own Amerikkka, and a child from the Middle East. It's funny that Amerikkkans appear to want peace seemingly always, but you're forever raising hell outside of your jurisdiction? Joe Biden is deporting Haitian refugees out of the country ASAP, while transporting inland, and giving amnesty to Afghan refugees, and South Americans even so far as to offer them free secondary education, and housing. The culture of Amerikkka is against a Black man ever rising up to experience the American Dream in a Taliban like Aristocracy or Totalitarian society that started centuries before Biden became president. He's not the answer to our problems nor is he the root of the issue. Amerikkka is a canker sore, and a blight that impedes the progression of a once dominant, but humble people. No one needs to preach of racial superiority and use terror tactics in order to justify a calloused approach to validate this viral disease that affects everyone with a modicum of common sense, decency, and compassion. Amerikkka was a Nation before Amerigo Vespucci set foot on these shores. Alkebulan was inhabited by some of the most brilliant minds, and still is before Scipio Africanus named the dark continent after himself, an albino. Ohhh the irony, and moral hypocrisy. Timbuktu, and the city of Alexandria were well established kingdoms in Alkebulan where Greek, and Roman scholars went to gather much needed knowledge because they were dumb as hell. Egypt is a mystery that none can determine for now. When the prophecy is fulfilled by the Father whom the Prophet Joel spoke thereof He would pour His Spirit down upon all flesh, the truth will set you and I free. And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions. What's impeding us from this prophetic word? Keep your thoughts to yourself. That's a luxury I haven't had since the age of stupid. Not wanting to call you out on the sins of your fathers, but you are just like him. I hope, and pray the Father fulfills His will in time before our hearts wax cold, too late. Amerikkka’s public enemy will not be our Black sons or daughters that are trying to follow the rules of man whose lawlessness has revealed itself to be an entire race of people. You create the laws, and break them leaving everyone with a bad taste in their mouth except those who profit from our pain. Chris Rock said this years ago. “The white man is the only one who profits from everyone's pain, especially a Black man’s.” you see how they treat us, and you have no inclination of what your future will hold for your people in the aftermath of the Zombie Apocalypse. I hate this form of pop culture rhetoric. There will be souls inhabiting these bodies that were once dead, and decomposing. God will deliver the dead from the sea, and He will deliver the dead from death, and hell.

Isaiah 26:17-21

17 Like as a woman with child, that draweth near the time of her delivery, is in pain, and crieth out in her pangs; so have we been in thy sight, O Lord.

18 We have been with child, we have been in pain, we have as it were brought forth wind; we have not wrought any deliverance in the earth; neither have the inhabitants of the world fallen.

19 Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.

20 Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast.

21 For, behold, the Lord cometh out of his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity: the earth also shall disclose her blood, and shall no more cover her slain..

When our Lord Christ Jesus does this work how do you think those who've hated, and betrayed us for a season of sin will react in the oncoming horror set before mankind? God has placed us on the Earth for a purpose, not to suffer. I can't put the blame on Joe Biden or those who came before him for what this nation or planet has done, and is doing to us; psych!!! The God of our fathers will judge you according to your works which has wrought death and destruction. The wrath, and judgment Joe Biden, trump, and their people will incur, and experience is worse than any Stephen King novel or Jordan Peele, and M. Night Shyamalan movies can induce in your alleged, fragile psyche. I've told Jacob, and warned the gentiles of God's incoming judgment, but no ones willing to heed the words of an idiot savant. I'm guilty of many things by way of my woeful condition. I'm compelled to elaborate these truths to you as they become relevant at a particular hour. Watch out for your young children who may be a pain, but they're innocent, and they're yours. The world sees us as prey, a potential payoff for an organ harvest, and fodder for the wickedly unjust. This woman that they have been searching for these last 5 or so days in a National Park has this Nation all a buzz. Who is she? Do you know how many women of Jacob go missing everyday without any press from the media? We can blame them, but are they at fault? Hell yeah!!! Continue to read. Our people have been limited by those who control the information, the social media platforms, infighting within our own tried Black media organizations that have blessed us over the years who are left open to attack by oppressive censorship that purposely restricts what they can, and cannot reveal to the Black masses. I was amazed to find out in 2017 that Coretta Scott King, and her family successfully sued the US government over the assassination of MLK Jr.; that was in 1999. The Atlanta Black Star might have covered the litigation process, but I didn't hear a peep from anyone I knew or even hear about it on any news media platform, especially from the major media news networks. That's how they've Silenced the Lamb with threats, and bullying tactics. We've come too far to go back to Egypt. The only time I wanna hear mention of going to Egypt is if my Church takes a sabbatical to the Motherland, and my Apostle takes the trip with us to seek the truths that have been denied us. Reference Joel 2:28. Those who stay committed to this ministry will see beyond the veil. If you placed all of your faith in me or Apostle Johnson you have overlooked the reasons God led you to this Church, Elders, Evangelists, Prophetesses, Deacons, Ministers, and the entire Church family. He nor I can do anything without the will of the Father, and I’m stuck on dufus. Get yo tail back to Church ASAP!!! We place our faith in men who have let us down many times. Apostle has done much for me, but Jesus has done everything. God will do a good work in all of us. I want every man, woman, and child in this ministry to reap what they have sown; don't leave. When the sky turns black, and the heavens roll back, peeling back the clouds, that's when you will see or hear the Son of God coming for His faithful. Apostle has taught us of the temporal mental mindset many times. Evidently it’s true as many of us have forgotten his teachings. My mind went off on a tangent, excuse me, where was I ? BET is owned by Jews, who used to own us. They run the entertainment industry that Buck breaks our men, and you wouldn't believe what they do to black women, and children who are all looking for a way to display their talents in order to get wealth, and their name up in lights. Leroy has the talent, all Mr. Epstein can offer you is a bogus contract that rips you off in the end leaving you po, broke, and lonely with a busted a-hole. Those who beat the system at their own game wind up 6 feet deep. Why do you think they murdered Michael Jackson, Prince, Sam Cooke, and James Brown? Michael owned half of SONY BMI. Prince owned all of his Masters that his

siblings sold for pennies on the dollar. Sam was going to start his own label, and brother James who had a label, but the IRS falsely audited him several times forcing him to sell his label keeping Soul Brother number 1 from becoming the first billionaire recording artist decades before JZ did. THIS AINT LEGAL. All that glitters isn't gold people. Ask Mr. Goldberg who runs several porn studios in Silicone Valley California. They run the majority of that particular industry as well as recording, movie and TV production studios while controlling the financial institutions. The majority heads of the Department of the Treasury including the current, Janet Yellen have been Jewish. Not trying to be a dissenter, but someone’s getting screwed. It's the middle class, and our fat, Black… ? William Randolph Hearst made the movie Reefer Madness which was a propaganda film not because hemp was a gateway drug to other crap, hell a pack of cigarettes has killed more people than ten thousand blunts. Smoke a blunt, and 30 minutes later you wanna eat. Smoke crack, and 30 minutes later you're sucking d**k. Hemp can be used in a vast amount of ways that would’ve crippled Mr. Hearst’s other industries. You can use it as fabric for clothes that's stronger, and more durable than cotton. The hemp plant had more useful potential than the soybean, and peanut combined!!! Marijuana isn't a drug at all, it's an herb. The Egyptians used it to cure many ailments including cancer. If I were still on Instagram Mark Suckerberg would personally shut my page down himself… again. That's why I no longer use white run social media websites. Mr. Hearst's only interest in getting the government to make hemp illegal was to keep his financial, investment interests ever increasing. In the end it turned out to do more harm than good. Now that the government has managed to tax the herb, they've made it legal. Why in the hell are Black men, and women still serving draconian, archaic prison sentences for minor marijuana drug offenses that don't make sense to a mongoloid retard?!! Like I said: “THIS AINT LEGAL.” Babylon the Damned will fall on its pancaked derriere soon enough. Pray to God the Zombie Apocalypse runs right past your abode or get some pads from your son's football uniform in order to appease the dead in Christ who may want a ham sandwich or your daughter Becky. This too shall pass. Try lamb's blood? The closer I get to death or that visitation with someone I've been wanting to see for a long time because I can't see, the more these things come back to my remembrance. This is enough for today. Whatever God reveals to me in the next few days hopefully I’ll relate some of that information to you. I thank those for judging me as a simp, punk b**ch, p**sy a** n**gah, punk a** n**gah, sorry a** n**gah, faggot, and everything you project or judge according to your flesh. I have no secrets so what am I trying to hide? Get your house in order Jeff, your life may be required of you, and ya boy in the wheelchair. Still someone else's identity Yippie Yai Kai Yay mother!@#$%& 9/21/2021

[servetolive]

*sweats* okay that is a lot of pressure but... Lore/Maddox angsty porn if you feel like it. Like. All the angst.

tfw your drunk friend drinks all your booze and fucks up your house while you’re at work

Maddox walked into his pitch-black apartment and knew something was off, just by the way the air sat, as if displaced.

“Computer, lights.”

He wasn’t particularly surprised to see nearly everything he owned–which wasn’t much, as he was a practical man–strewn across the floor of his living room, but it was somewhat jarring to see everything out of the order he had painstakingly created for his personal space. The bookshelf was his most prized possession, and although it was upright and intact, it was emptied; its contents fanned out onto the floor, intermingled with PADDs and loose notes he had slipped into his science journals for safekeeping.

The wooden counter next to his door was missing a leg, the drawer wide open and styluses and pens scattered onto the ground. He made no sound, save for the small clatter his keycard and glasses made as he set it at the edge of the table, continuing to survey the damage as he swing the strap of his bag off his shoulder and set it on the ground next to his feet.

He stepped over the mess and moved towards the stairs to the loft, which was littered with his clothes, underwear, and uniform undershirts.

The bed was stripped of sheets and flipped onto the ground; all of his drawers were open. Maddox checked the trunk that he kept beneath his bed, which housed his contraband.

Gone. Of course.

He looked over the railing of his loft, and the soft light from it fell onto a trail of clutter that led to the dark balcony.

Lore sat perched on the railing like a gargoyle, drinking from Maddox’s crystal bottle and staring off into the distance, the thin metal bisecting the arches of his booted feet. It was quite windy out, and even with the house in its current state, Maddox had to marvel at the android’s ability to balance himself and focus on the horizon.“You’re not thinking of jumping, are you?” Maddox asked with casual sarcasm.

Lore took a swig, but didn’t turn around to face Maddox as the human walked up beside him. “Bet you think you’re real clever. Don’t you.”

“I think I might have better taste in interior design than you,” the human said, turning to lean back against the railing.

“Don’t like my handiwork?” He drank again and turned to smirk at Maddox, who wondered how it was possible to smell alcohol on an inorganic tongue. Lore shrugged. “This was your idea. If you’re mad, sorry, not sorry.”

Looking into his trashed house from where he stood–and knowing that Lore would stand around and cajole him while he cleaned it all up alone–made Maddox finally concede to a sigh.

“Programming alcohol intoxication into your neural net, right… Probably not one of my best.”

“Reassembling me might not have been, either,” Lore sneered.

Maddox’s mouth quirked in annoyance. “What are you, a bitter drunk now?”

He reached for the bottle, and fully expected Lore to hand it over, but Lore pulled his arm back and took a swig.

“I don’t know; this is your handiwork.” He smiled, darkly, and then held the bottle over the open air. “You tell me.”

Maddox’s eyes followed the glass as it fell, still half full, twenty-two stories below and listened to the smash echo back up to them.

It had cost him five bars of latinum to secure each bottle. He let it go.

“Your brother said I’m not that talented, remember? I can toy with the software… but the hardware is yours.”

He immediately regretted bringing up Data.

Lore snickered and then swung his legs around so that he was facing the same direction as Maddox. “Data,” he said. “What else did he say?”

Maddox brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Not this again.”

“Tell me, Maddox.”

“I’m going in.”

Lore had been speaking to Maddox normally enough up until then, and so he was surprised when, after taking two steps toward the door, Lore had reached out and caught him by the back of his uniform, swung him around, and slammed him up against the railing.

The wind was already knocked out of him, but Lore closed his left fist around Maddox’s throat and squeezed slowly.

Maddox’s hands shot up to Lore’s wrist in a defensive reflex; otherwise, he didn’t even attempt to struggle.

“You know I can fucking kill you right now?” Lore hissed at him through gritted teeth, the sweet, warm smell of whiskey filtered between them. A thumb pressed into Maddox’s trachea and he felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, but he couldn’t talk if he was choking.

But he looked dead into the android’s glassy, yellow eyes.

It was only when he dropped his hands–and any other semblance of resistance–in effect, surrendering his life to this machine, that Lore let him go, just as he passed out.

Maddox woke up on his overturned mattress mere minutes later, with a sharp intake of breath and a couple of violent coughs.

His uniform was unzipped and peeled down to the waist, his undershirt missing. Lore’s back was turned to him, shirtless, rummaging through one of the drawers without looking for anything, until he yanked the drawer out and drunkenly dumped the contents out onto the floor, tossing it to the side. It shattered into pieces after making a dent in the wall.

“‘He is all yours,’“ Maddox rasped, propping himself up on his elbows. His neck hurt, and he was sure that blood spots had formed in his eyes.

Lore stopped what he was doing and looked up over his shoulder.

“What?”

“That’s what he said to me when he handed off your transfer of property papers.” Lore turned around fully to examine how stoically this fragile creature delivered this information. “’He is all yours.’“

Lore’s face twitched to the side, his eyes closing for a moment, as if trying to deflect the pain that processing this information had caused.

“You never told me that,” he said quietly, coming over to kneel down in front of Maddox. He grabbed him by his hair and yanked him upwards into a harsh, poorly coordinated kiss–likely on account of his state.

Maddox grunted in shock when the metal teeth clashed against his, then sliced into the corners of his mouth. Again, in a defensive reflex, his hands shot up to grasp at Lore’s arms, but not to pull away. 

He tasted blood. Lore pulled away, their lips making a light smack, with the android’s smile twisting into a lewd smirk before Maddox pushed himself up onto his knees and leaned into another kiss.

“What other things have you not told me, hm?” Lore said between kisses, his fingernails creating small beads of blood in their wake as they traveled down Maddox’s back. Maddox cried out, arched himself into Lore, cock hard and pressing against his abdomen. 

Lore pushed him back down against the mattress, trapping him there. Maddox managed to kick off his boots in time for Lore to pull down the rest of his uniform and toss it aside to join the rest of the mess.

“Any other modifications I don’t know about?” He asked as he stood on his knees over the human, fingers working to free himself from his pants, grinning down at him.

Maddox’s breath quickened at the sight. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“Shall we find out?” Lore smirked, cock in hand.

He thought he would kiss him again when he leaned down, but he didn’t: just spread thighs, pressed them against his chest and fucked him like he was still a schoolboy in a cadet’s uniform. 

Maddox lost their staring contest that time, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his hands curling around Lore’s shoulders, fingering the musculature, squeezing his hips with his thighs.

“It would have been nice to have some alcohol right about now.” 

Maddox had a right to grumble. He’d cleaned himself up after Lore came inside him–after Lore had the nerve to fall asleep on top of him. He was naked still, and picking up large pieces of furniture that Lore had destroyed in his room and tossing them on one side of the loft, while Lore sat on a corner and watched him, nursing a headache.

“This… this sucks,” Lore groaned. “How do you people live with this?”

Maddox gave Lore a dirty look as he went on cleaning, but suddenly stepped on a piece of glass.

“Ow!” He collapsed, trying to fall away from where the glass was. “Dammit,” he said, once he landed halfway on his damaged headboard.

He felt two hands underneath his arms pull him back to lean against the wall, right next to Lore.

Maddox inspected his foot; without waiting for permission, Lore leaned over and plucked the shard of glass from his heel.

Maddox hissed at him, and pulled a stray undershirt from beneath him and held it to his heel.

They sat there for a few seconds, silently, with Maddox rapidly losing the will to clean.

“You wanted it.”

Maddox didn’t answer him, but rolled his eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” Lore said, examining the bloody piece of glass in his fingers. “Because you’re afraid of falling in love?” 

He looked at Maddox through the shard, giving him an image of the cyberneticist with bloody rivers dripping down his head and chest.

Maddox snatched the piece of glass out of his hand and tossed it, before moving to stand.

“Because it’s unprofessional,” he said flatly.

[hearshegoes-blog]

Do [No] Harm (part 5)

Their post I <3 U story continues...  

Read here or catch up on AO3

Molly, please!

He was dreaming. He knew this because somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice kept repeating “I love you I love you I love you…“ Molly’s voice. But the image behind his eyelids was of an explosion, running on a concurrent loop. He’d fought against sleep for hours, but finally lost the battle shortly after leaving St. Bart’s.

Sherlock hated dreaming.

The sweet oblivion he received from shooting up was one he could rely on. The visions were phantasmagoric in the extreme, making even the most harrowing of them easy to ride, enjoy - or at least get lost in. When he was high, his subconscious created an animated short or a Buñuel for him to watch. Nothing was real enough for him to feel. He was just an observer even when he was the star.

By contrast, dreams took the very same data from his subconscious and ran it through the filter of raw emotion, his heart. Every frame, every word refracted through the prism of his fear, shame, sorrow. Love. In dreams, Sherlock was forced to participate in the narrative to the point of feeling pain.

And it frightened him.

“Sherlock?”

Molly wore the spectrum of Sherlock's emotions in those dreams. He was ashamed of his disregard for her, treatment he convinced himself was ultimately, selflessly, for her benefit. He couldn’t outrun the sadness he felt every time he used her flat, as a bolthole, and discovered telltale signs of another man’s presence. He feared he’d made a grievous mistake, hours ago, when he uttered that second I love you. He couldn’t take it back and it might’ve destroyed whatever this was between them, the long-established distance that felt closer to intimacy than anything he’d ever had with a woman.

And he loved her.

“Sherlock.”

She whispered his name in that way, the last hard consonants floating breathlessly from her mouth. Sherlohhhhck. He liked that most of all, when she said his name. Even when she was angry with him. Softer than even his best dressing gown. And he was going to tell her just that. Even if it was only in a dream. Reach out to her, hold her, tell her —

“Sherlock! Sherlock what are you doing? Wake up would you!” Molly shoved at him, her hand slipping past his shoulder and connecting squarely with his nose.

“OUCH!” Sherlock’s eyes flew open as his head bounced against the taxi’s back window. Instinctively, he felt for his nose, forgetting his stiff hands, the stitches, the raw cuts. “What’d you do that for?" The pain in his hands throbbed. "Owww!”

“You ok, Miss?” The taxi driver took his eyes of the road for a second at the commotion coming from his back seat.

“Is she okay?” Sherlock whined, “I’m the one being assaulted.” He rested his head back again and shut his eyes. “I’m seeing stars for god’s sake.”

Molly ignored him, “I’m fine Aarti. Thank you.”

“OK. You just let me know. I can pull over and dump him out if he gets fresh again, Miss.”

“Thank you. He’s mostly all mouth and no trousers.”

Sherlock turned and fixed Molly with one glittering eye. “One day, Miss Hooper, I shall prove you wrong.”

“I'd like to see you try it.” she countered, her words clipped and her face hard.

He knew when to leave well enough alone.

But he couldn't.

"I...I think you dislodged something," he sulked. "I think I need a doctor."

Molly kneeled up on the seat, hovering above his face and scowled. If Aarti could take a sharp corner right about now, he thought, this whole business would effectively be taken out of both their hands and placed squarely with more agreeable body parts.

“Move your hand,” she swatted at him, “let me see —“

“— Owww! Clearly a bedside manner isn't required in the morgue.”

She set her fingers roughly along the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact. After an abnormally thorough examination of the damage, she asked, “What were you doing anyway?”

“I was trying for a little sympathetic companionship,” he muttered, “Thanks for queering my pitch.”

“In the back of a cab?” Molly replied. She gave him one more - unnecessary - pinch before withdrawing her hands from his face. “You're fine. And you’ve been watching too much porn if you think you've got any chance of a backseat quickie.”

He wanted to tell her, wanted to explain to her about his dream. But he couldn't. She'd made it abundantly clear she wasn't interested in hearing more from him tonight.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as the cab sped along at an annoyingly legal rate of speed. Sherlock focused his attention out the window and silently cursed Aarti’s cautions driving.

“This isn’t the way to Baker Street,” he harped. “Where are we going?”

The question was rhetorical. He knew full well. And he wasn't at all unhappy about it.

“Clapham,” she responded flatly.

Another several minutes passed before she spoke. “Why’d you let us get all the way to Baker Street without telling me about your flat?” Molly didn’t wait for his response, launching full throttle into her lecture, “Had to find out from the boys opening the shop that Mrs. Hudson’s camped out at Mrs. Turner’s until the reno’s finished! And John took Rosie home, for obvious reasons! What were you going to do, then? Huh? Just crawl back up to your flat and sleep amongst the debris? Honestly, Sherlock, you have no concept —”

“— Well gee whizz Miss Hooper,” he turned toward her and drawled, mocking her irritation in his American cowboy accent, “I had a might bit more on my mind but you rest assured, the next time I find out I have a sister, watch three - no four! - men die and nearly loose my best friend, my brother and the woman I love I’ll be right sure to inform you of flat upgrades first. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

He'd said too much.

Bloody hell, this night! He didn’t mean to sound petulant. He meant to right his wrong. The dull ache in his chest returned, as did the desire to reach out for her. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and turned back toward the window. Molly annoyed him during the regular course of their friendship. She saw too much. Of him. It was unnerving.

If this was love, he couldn’t understand why John and she rushed, head-long, into it so often. The data made no sense.

Sherlock concentrated on the brightening sky as they crossed the Chelsea Bridge. London was waking up to a light drizzle as he was going to sleep in a thunderstorm.

“I’m taking you home,” Molly spoke softly, after a time, as if she didn’t want to disturb him.”It’s too crowded for you to stay at the neighbor's with Mrs. Hudson.”

“Yes," he drawled and looked squarely at her. The corner of his mouth kicked up, "I have it on good authority that Mrs. Turner’s got several married…flat mates.”

“And Mrs. Hudson is a former exotic dancer with an Aston Martin and a boarder with a penchant for playing pirate.” She didn't fully commit to her smile. Instead, she leaned forward to address the cabbie. “Aarti, I’d like to introduce you to the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective and sometimes pirate,” she turned back and he was grateful for the light tone in her voice. “You were barely awake, Sherlock, when Aarti helped load you into the cab —“

“— Damsel in distress is sounding alarmingly more accurate,” he grunted, remembering her admonishment from earlier at Bart's, but couldn't keep his smirk from widened into a full grin.

“Left turn just here, Aarti, then up on the right. Thank you.”

“Yep. You got it. Miss.” The cab pulled in front of a neat, terraced Georgian. As they exited, Aarti leaned out the window and motioned back in Sherlock’s direction, “You gonna be ok with him, Miss?”

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, slamming the cab door behind him harder than necessary. “Need I remind you that it was ME who was assaulted by HER?”

Aarti ignored his griping and raised a brow at Molly.

“You mean the damsel in pirate’s clothing?” She nodded toward Sherlock, “He doth protest too much. He’ll be back to his old self after a good kip.”

Entwining her arm though his, she lead the way up the walk. Sherlock felt an unfamiliar flutter in his stomach as they reached the door. Apprehension? Anticipation? Odd. He’d been in Molly’s flat countless times before, although rarely with her there. He made it a point to use it as a bolthole only when he knew her to be working or on holiday. When he could be alone amongst her things. Sherlock wasn’t quite sure why it was important that she not be around… only that he felt more comfortable about sleeping in her bed, using her bath linens, when he knew she wouldn’t be there.

She looked up at him with an almost smile again. As knackered as he was, he could think of nothing beyond coaxing a full grin from her. What would it be like if he stopped right here, at her door, and kissed her? Not on the cheek as he’d done numerous times before. Those chaste pecks were delivered quickly, efficiently, in an effort to pry himself loose, to save himself from drowning and pulling her down with him. He was an addict always in search of the next fix.

She deserves better.

But Christ if Sherlock didn’t want to hear her gasp in surprise as he pulled her to him, feel her relax against his body and tell her…tell her he was sorry. And not just for the last twelve hours.

Tell her he loved her.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, Molly stepped behind him and gave him a gentle push through the door. “Go. Up. A kip, a good kick in the arse and - for better or for worse - you’ll be yourself again.”

He wasn't sure that was the most advantageous of outcomes.

—

Sherlock knew Molly’s flat almost as well as he knew Baker Street. He’d been surprised by the tidy modernity of it - crisp white and warm charcoal gray softened by touches of violet and smoke blue. And charmed by her collection of rocks, lined atop the mantle, and shadowboxes of taxidermy insects lining the hallway.

Miss Hooper was practical, sentimental, and a woman with her own means.

And undressing on the other side of her bedroom door.

The window for taking subsequent actions based upon that data had closed. Probably for the better. For their friendship. He needed to erase the image of Molly kicking off her trousers, walking around in her plain cotton knickers.

She had eleven pairs of white, four pink and one incredibly suggestive black lace pair shoved in the back of her chest of drawers.

He knew every inch of her flat.

He rushed to occupy his mind. And his hands. He shouted louder than needed in her direction, “Shall I make us some tea?"

Molly mumbled from behind the door but didn’t come out.

“Right, then,” he sighed and went to put the kettle on.

In the kitchen.

The dull light of rainy London did nothing to soften the blow of being in her kitchen. By reflex, he looked up at the far corner, to where a camera offered him full view of her face just hours earlier. The entire set-up had since been disconnected back at Sherrinford. Greg arranged for the units themselves to be removed in the morning.

It was morning, Sherlock reminding himself.

“Mourning, more accurately,” he murmured.

“What’s that?”

Molly reappeared, barefoot and sporting a plain long-sleeved t-shirt atop a pair of floral pajama bottoms. Her face was scrubbed and her hair was loose.

And he was never so grateful for a counter between them.

“I was…a…,” he fumbled, the blood completely draining from his brain. “Em...Hmmm?”

“Sherlock. It’s 7:15 in the morning. We both need sleep.” Molly pointed back down the hallway from where she'd just emerged. “No tea," she ordered, “Bed. Now.”

"That's awfully presumptuous of you, Miss Hooper," he deadpanned, hoping to infuse a bit of levity into the situation and give himself a moment to... collect parts of his anatomy that were responding quite robustly to her unintended suggestion.  

He was in no position to walk the short distance without drawing her suspicion. Nor was he in any position to entertain such thoughts. At least not consciously.

At least not now. 

Not after what you did to her.

“Molly,” he started, paused, spread his hands on the counter. They’d been in this position before, earlier this evening. And she’d been a rational adult throughout. In the past, when they'd sparred, she’d yell ferociously or cut him with a much-deserved remark. Or slapped him.

This time, she took great pains not to hurt him. He watched her anger bloom, back at Bart’s and in the taxi, expected her to rail against him. Welcomed the punishment. Instead, she informed him that she wasn’t discussing the three words wedged between them. Not until they were both thinking and speaking rationally.

That’s when it struck him: Molly was well and truly upset with him.

Not upset.

Hurt.

Tonight had hurt her.

He'd hurt her. Again.

“You’re right. Tea would be a bad idea now,” he hesitated, wanting to stay in the kitchen with her, to somehow cleanse it of the damage done. “I’ll just go clean up. Thank you, Molly Hooper, for letting me stay here...tonight.”

“Today. Sherlock. It’s already today.”

#sherlolly #sherlock x molly #molly hooper

[spiritualdirections]

Examination of Conscience on the First Commandment

When things aren’t going well for us, when we are in need of refuge, we are supposed to take refuge in the Lord. We are supposed to pray, to humble ourselves before Him, to acknowledge our dependence upon Him, to look to Him for strength and hope, to turn to Him, and to trust Him. This is what we are taught in Scripture, as for example in Psalm 71:

Psalm 71:1-8

“In you, LORD, I take refuge; let me never be put to shame. In your justice rescue and deliver me; listen to me and save me! Be my rock of refuge, my stronghold to give me safety; for you are my rock and fortress. ...You are my hope, Lord; my trust, GOD, from my youth. On you I have depended since birth; from my mother’s womb you are my strength; my hope in you never wavers. ...you are my strong refuge! My mouth shall be filled with your praise, shall sing your glory every day.”

Fr. Sean Kilcawley is the founder of Integrity Restored, a Catholic organization that helps those with pornography addictions. He sometimes uses an examination of conscience for his Christian porn addicts, where he asks them to read Psalm 71 and substitute their go-to pornography website in place of “Lord” or “God”; as in “In you, [website], I take refuge... rescue me and deliver me and save me!” This helps addicts realize that they’ve got a weird, unbiblical picture of God, such that when things are going well, they look to Him like good Catholics; but when things are stressful or painful or boring, they seek refuge in pornography to make themselves feel better.

This seems like a good exercise in general, a way to examine our conscience regarding whether we truly live the First Commandment to have no other gods before the Lord. For example:

“In you, Netflix, I take refuge (when I’m bored)...”

“In you, my girlfriend, I take refuge (when I’m feeling lonely)...”

“In you, work, I take refuge (when the rest of my life is overwhelming)...”

“In you, parties, I take refuge (at the end of a long week)...”

 “In you, gossip, I take refuge (when I need to feel superior)...”

“In you, chicken wings, I take refuge (when I need to feel pleasure)...”

“In you, Facebook, I take refuge (when I need to feel appreciated)...”

 “In you, my children, I take refuge (when I’m frustrated with my husband)...”

Take some time in your next period of prayer to ask: “In what or whom do I take refuge other than God? Is there someone or something which I believe will make me happier than God? Do I turn from God and towards something or someone else when I feel weak and broken? Why?”

God is our Father, and He wants us to turn to Him always—especially when we aren’t at our best. Let us strive to have no other gods before Him, so as to be able to say to the Lord, sincerely, “You are my strong refuge! My mouth shall be filled with your praise!”

#integrity restored #first commandment #examination of conscience

[peopleofzionendtimeministry-blog]

finding Happiness, Love and Joy

Where will you find Happiness, Love and Joy?

Everybody wants to be loved, feel happy and joyful. That’s the reason many will do anything to have them. Many have sold their soul to the devil just to have love, happiness and joy. Many seek happiness, love and joy from drugs, alcohol, sex, cult, fashion, people etc. which eventually leads to mental health sicknesses, sadness, sorrow, shame, depression, frustration, fearfulness, pain, suicide, disappointment and death.

As stated in the Bible, Romans 6:23 God says “the wages of sin is death”. God says we should not seek after the things of this world nor love them. James 4:4 says “he that is a friend of this world will be God’s enemy”. Anyone who loves fears and obey God will always have happiness, love, peace and joy. 

Dear reader, there is one in the Bible whom God calls the god of this world, the deceiver, the accuser, the father of lies, the wicked one, prince of darkness, the thief, devil and Satan. John 10:10 says “the devil rather bad things.

God created you to be happy, full of joy and His love. John 3:16 – 17 says “for God so love the world (you) that He sent His only son Jesus Christ to die for you and set you free from the dominion, control, power and oppression of the devil”. comes to steal, kill and to destroy”. Satan never does good things

We worry over so many things and forgetting God who can do all things (solve all problems) for all powers belongs to God only. Nothing is impossible with God. True happiness, love and joy come from God through Jesus Christ His son. Mathew 6:33 says “but seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added to you”.Jesus died for you so that you will be saved. He died for you in order to destroy the works of the devil from your life 1 John 3:8. Jesus says in Mathew 11:28 “come to me all you that are troubled, in pain, in shame, depressed, discouraged, fearful, frustrated, sick and heavy laden, I will give you rest”.What is the trouble in your life? Is it sickness, are you depressed, unhappy, and troubled by evil spirits, fearful of death, troubled by debts, afraid of the night, tormented by demons? Are you addicted to drugs? Are you having a troubled marriage? Are you suffering from bad luck? Are you addicted to alcohol, sex and pornography? Are you suicidal? If any of these is troubling your life and you want to be set free from them, then I have good news for you!!! Jesus will surely set you free from them and Jesus is waiting for you to come to him to free you. The power to free you is with Jesus and only Jesus can set you free from these problems and He is willing to.All you have to do is give your life to Jesus Christ and be born again and Jesus will give you happiness, love, joy and peace that none and nothing can ever offer you. I was once under the control of the devil and he messed up my life through sex, drugs, porn, lies, fear and death. But Jesus delivered me from devil's hands and I  am completely free from Satan's power. You too can be set free if you come to Jesus.   If you want to be free from your troubles and want to know and give your life to Jesus Christ, then please call this numbers for counselling and prayers. E-mail: [email protected]

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