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sarahowritesostucky · 2 months

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📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3620

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

6. Somethin' with Bananas

Steve

Steve wakes up to Bucky spooning him, pressing his morning wood against his ass. He hums with his eyes still closed, enjoying the feeling. “Mmm, g’morning.”

Hands slide onto his hips. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Steve smiles. “Sunshine” is one of Bucky’s favorite pet names for him. Steve is rather fond of it too, after so many years together. His husband has a knack for making him feel special like that. “What’re you doin', Buck?” he warns softly, still smiling because he likes the feeling of being explored, even if they can't take this far right now because of—

“She left for work a while ago,” Bucky murmurs, the answer to a question that Steve hasn’t asked. Alone time doesn’t happen as much as it used to, these days. "Left a bunch of baking stuff out on the counter. There's a note threatening us with mortal peril if we eat any of her bananas."

"Hmm." Steve yawns deeply and wiggles his butt back against his husband's noticeable hardon. "Whas'she makin'?"

"Dunno. Somethin' with bananas." Bucky’s hand slides to the juncture of Steve’s legs. He palms the half hard line of his cock from over his briefs, massaging the bulge as it grows. Steve moans a little and tips his head back to Bucky’s shoulder, a wordless request for kisses. Bucky starts lavishing his neck with attention while his hand continues its slow work.

Steve loves moments like this. Early morning, the sun barely out and the world quiet, the bedroom air still and thick from sleep; easy, instinctual fucking; simple and not complicated, just the two of them loving on each other. He inhales a little sharper when Bucky finally slides his hand under the waistband of his underwear. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“Mmhm.” Bucky kisses his neck. “This what you wanted, Honey?” His hand is wrapped flush around Steve now, skin on skin. He strokes once up and down and gives a squeeze, starts up a slow, tight rhythm.

“Oh.” Steve bites his lip, eyes closed as he just feels what Bucky’s doing to him. “Mm. Mmhm. S’real good.” He shivers when Bucky’s thumb swipes at his cockhead, spreading the wetness around and pressing firm against his slit. “Fuck …”

“Always were a leaker,” Bucky says lowly. “You get so wet, Honey.”

“Buck,” Steve whines. He loves Bucky’s talk in bed but he’s never been able to handle it. It turns him into a pitiful mess, every time.

Bucky

Bucky just chuckles, knowing the effect he has on him. He’s Dominant. Winding Steve around his little finger comes naturally to him, and Steve can’t say he doesn’t like it. “You were making pretty sounds in your sleep,” Bucky says, murmuring the words in between kisses on Steve’s neck. “Moaning and moving your hips a little.” He demonstrates, pushing his own hips up against Steve’s ass. Steve makes an embarrassed, whimpery sort of noise that goes straight to Bucky’s cock, and he shushes him. “Shh, no. It was hot, Stevie. You were feeling real good in your sleep, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

“What were you dreaming about?” Bucky presses his thigh forward, between Steve’s legs, crowding him that much closer. “Hm?”

“Her,” Steve says breathily. “I … h-her.”

“Mary?” Bucky grins against the skin of his neck. “Having dirty dreams about our girl, huh?”

Steve moans—whether at Bucky calling her ‘their girl’, or at the way his other hand is now reaching down to cup Steve’s sac, isn’t clear. Bucky gives a gentle squeeze and tug, then rolls the weight of his testicles in his palm. Steve, who’s always been keen on having his balls played with, moans louder and nods against the pillow. “Didn’t mean to,” he says, as if he needs to defend his character.

Bucky grins like a shark and nips his earlobe. “Course not. You just couldn’t help it, could you? She’s always there, moaning around bites of cream filled pastries, showing off her ass in those leggings—”

Steve groans.

“—Giving us attitude every day like she wants a spanking, but dropping so sweet by the end’a the night.” He can see pink spreading around to the back of Steve’s neck and shoulders now. His Stevie colors so easily. Bucky licks delicately along the shell of his ear and whispers, “Tell me. Tell me what you did to her in the dream.” Steve moans and doesn’t answer for a long while, maybe too distracted by Bucky’s hand that’s still stroking him slowly. Bucky stills, opens his hand and presses Steve’s cock up against his stomach. “Steve,” he warns. “Tell me.”

“... Wasn’t me,” Steve mumbles, embarrassed. “It was you. You were touching her, fucking her.”

Bucky’s guts tighten in arousal. “Oh?” he breathes. “You like thinkin’ about that? Like thinking about me laying her out? Her spreading her legs for me right here on this bed?” Steve groans and nods, whining impatiently and humping forward for more. Bucky chuckles and takes him in hand again, squeezing his shaft and fondling his balls. They’re tighter now, drawn up closer to his body as he gets more worked up. “So?” Bucky needles, when he still hasn’t gotten an answer. “Is that what you want?”

“Bucky, nngh, Yes, alright?”

“Mmhm.” He chuckles softly and nuzzles Steve’s neck, enjoying his husband’s flustered state. “But you know, I think I’d like to watch you.” He can just picture it: Steve’s muscled, strong body moving over her soft curves, his big hands holding her open gently—because everything Steve does is gentle—while he makes her cum on his cock. “Yeah. You like that idea, Big guy? Me too. I wanna watch this big fat dick—” he squeezes his fist on Steve— “plowing her sloppy, making her cum so good she even cries a little bit.” Steve whines again, and Bucky hums in agreement. “Mmhm. It’d be so hot, Stevie.”

Steve squirms against him in distress. “I, I’ve never … With girls I mean. I’m not … I’ve never …” he peters off, and Bucky’s got no idea what he’s saying.

“What?” He frowns and ruts his erection against the cleft of Steve’s ass for a little relief. “What’re you talking about, Baby? You’ve been with women before. College?”

Steve shakes his head against the pillow. “No, I mean I … I don’t know what to do. To make ‘em feel good. I’m … not good at it.”

Bucky actually stops what he’s doing. Steve grunts at the lack of touch, but Bucky just hushes him and pulls on his shoulder, urging him to turn over. “Hey. C’mere. Look at me.” Steve’s face is indeed colored pink when he turns to lie facing Bucky. His eyes flick up briefly, but dart away again, shy. Bucky’s heart squeezes. “Oh, Honey,” he says, bringing a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw. “Who told you that?” He thinks of murdering whatever coed bitch might’ve made Steve feel self-conscious.

Steve looks mortified. “Nobody did. Just … I could tell. The times I was with ‘em. I couldn’t make them, you know, cum.” He looks so ashamed as he admits it, and Bucky wants to grab him and kiss all over his entire face.

“Aw, Steve,” he coos. “Is that it? You’re nervous about being with a woman again? Not confident?”

Steve nods. He tucks himself against Bucky’s body and presses his face in his neck, hiding there. “Women are hard,” he mumbles. “I like ‘em, but it’s not easy.”

Bucky chuckles a little. “Yeah, that’s for sure. But it’s not that bad, baby. You just gotta know a few basics. Gotta take it real slow and feel them out, find out what makes her feel good. Every girl’s different. That’s the beauty in it.”

Steve grunts and ruts up against him, their cocks knocking together between their bellies. “Tell me?” he asks, eager and sweet. “Please, Buck? Tell me how.”

Bucky feels like half the blood leaves his brain, his dick throbbing anew. “Fuck,” he breathes, crazy turned on at the idea. “You want me to teach you, Stevie? Teach you how to get her crying? Dripping wet? How to touch her so good you make her cum?”

Steve shivers and nods, grinding his forehead into Bucky’s shoulder in embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah I want you to. Want you to teach me.”

Bucky pulls Steve’s head up to make him look at him. His face is pinched—embarrassed but wanting. Bucky curses. “Fuck. Yeah, yeah baby I’ll teach you how. C’mere.” He moves up the bed, pulling Steve’s meaty shoulders to get him to follow, directing him to sit in his lap, back to chest as Bucky props them up against the headboard. He spreads his legs wide to accommodate Steve’s bulk, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “My little overachiever,” he murmurs. “Such a Boy Scout, always wanting to be the best you can be.”

Steve huffs. “Don’t think they gave out merits for eating pussy,” he quips, uncharacteristically lewd.

Bucky barks out a laugh in delight. “Well pay attention, Sweetheart. You’re about to earn that badge.” Steve shudders against him, but he’s leaning back against Bucky, slumped just a little lower in his lap. He’s ready to listen, and Bucky’s fucking hot at the chance to tell. “First thing you gotta know,” he says, speaking delicately and smoothing his hands over Steve’s sides. “Is forget what you’ve seen in porn. They make that shit for us, not them. It’s all fake. No better way to make a girl miserable than to go pounding into her or whatever else.”

Steve makes a questioning noise, and God bless him, Bucky knows instantly that this is news to the big dummy. “But …” he hedges.

“No buts, Honey.” Bucky kisses his ear. “You gotta be so gentle. Always start soft, always go slow. Start that way and pay attention to her reactions.” He skims his fingertips up Steve’s ribs, tickling lightly over to his pecs and back down, making him gasp. “Yeah,” Bucky hums, “Just like that. She might be quiet at first, girls don’t moan all loud right off the bat. They don’t get worked up as fast as we do. They take time.”

Steve nods, panting a little as he listens to him. “W-what then?” he asks.

“Listen to her breathing, the sounds she makes. She’ll start breathing heavier when you’ve got her feeling good, start making little sounds without even realizing she’s doin’ it.” Steve looses a tiny whimper and Bucky grins. “Yeah, just like that.” He reaches down and finds Steve’s cock again, and god it’s sexy how wet his fella can get. He strokes him a few times, just languidly, letting the precum guide the slide of his fist. Not hurrying. Showing Steve what he means when he says ‘slow’.

“Oh,” Steve breathes, sounding gone for it.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “And then when she starts moving her hips?” He presses his crotch into the small of Steve’s back. “Just rubbing herself against you or humping up in the air a little? Oh yeah, that’s when she’s into it.” He brings one hand up to cradle Steve’s pec. “Girls are more sensitive here than we are,” he tells him. He’s looking over Steve’s shoulder now, eyeing up what he’s doing. He flicks his thumb over the nipple—so freaking small and petal pink where Bucky’s are darker. And he’s so responsive, the nipple pebbling up with hardly any effort on Bucky’s part. “Mmhm,” Bucky hums approvingly. “You want to try different things. You can just hold ‘em …” he uses both hands and cups the meat of Steve’s chest, giving a proprietary squeeze. Steve moans and Bucky smiles. “Yeah. But not too hard. Treat her tits like they’re something delicate, somethin’ special.” He makes the motion to Steve’s pecs like he would do to lightly bounce a woman’s breasts in his palms. “And Mary, she’s got smaller tits. A nice, healthy handful, just like you.”

Steve whines and squirms impatiently in his lap. Bucky glances down to check, and sees Steve’s cock; abandoned on his stomach, dark, and leaking. It’s so heavy and thick, the foreskin drawn halfway down the head, showcasing the shiny pink tip of him. Bucky curses softly. Fuck, but he wants to wring an orgasm out of that cock like ten minutes ago. But he forces himself to stay the course.

“When you use your mouth on her nipples,” he whispers, voice soft like velvet in Steve’s ear, “You can lick. Or nibble a little.” He mimics each option with a stroke and then a pinch of his fingers on Steve’s nipples, flicking out with his tongue to get the shell of Steve’s ear. “But I’ll tell you what: most of ‘em like it best when you suck.” He uses all five fingertips drawn together to pull gently at the peaks of Steve’s chest, and Steve makes a hurt, wanting sound. “Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Suck her nipples. Then fit as much of her in your mouth as you can and suck that too.” He takes pity on Steve and reaches back down for his cock. Steve cries out, and Bucky gentles him. “Shh sh sh. Remember: slow.”

Steve groans, his tight hips flexing and pushing his cock up into the curl of Bucky’s fist. “Buck, please.”

“It’s not about you,” Bucky chides. “You’re a man. You get to cum so easy and all the time. You gotta help her get there, give her what she deserves.”

Steve sobs a little, so worked up from all the teasing, but he falls back into Bucky, relaxing against his chest and laying himself open for Bucky to continue. Pride and adoration for his man well up in Bucky at the show of submission. “Good,” he praises, giving an extra indulgent twist on the next upstroke. Steve’s foreskin moves with the motions, making soft, wet noises with all the precum he’s leaking. Bucky hums appreciatively. “Yeah, lookit that.” He draws his hand all the way up, tight, and then dips his thumb into the folds, rubbing into that wetness, against the sensitive head. “If you’re doing it right, touching her enough, she’ll be wet by now,” he says. “But you still shouldn’t go for her pussy yet. Not yet.”

“What … what else?” Steve asks muzzily, like he can’t think of anything else to do that doesn’t involve his dick getting jerked off or sticking it in a hypothetical pussy.

“Tease her,” Bucky says. “Run your hands all over her body, all over her soft skin.”

Steve sighs happily. “I like how soft they are. Smooth.”

Hearing Steve talk about what he likes about women makes Bucky’s dick throb, and he grinds it against Steve’s lower back for some relief. “Mmhm,” he agrees, moving his hands up and down the skin of Steve’s ribcage, his belly, grabbing on at his hips and giving a proprietary jostle. “Dig your fingers into her, gentle but insistent. Let her feel how much you love her body.”

“Now?” Steve asks.

“Not yet,” Bucky whispers.

“Fuck. Bucky.”

“Tease her,” he insists, ignoring Steve’s pleading. He slides his hands down Steve’s thighs and inwards, pulling them apart. Steve moans and spreads them wide. “Exactly,” Bucky says. “You want to touch her here. Run your hands all over, so close to where she wants it. Remember, if you’ve been doing this right, she’ll be wet by now.” He goes back and strokes the wetness along Steve’s shaft. “Sink down between her legs and kiss her thighs—you’ll smell it.”

“Oh my god.”

Bucky smiles, in love with his husband for how easily he comes apart under his care. He traces down to the base of Steve’s cock, making a vee with two fingers and rubbing the skin on either side. “Put pressure on her mound, really close but not touching where she wants it. Not yet.” His other hand slides down and delicately traces the seam of Steve’s sac. “Tease her, trace her folds. Get a little bit of that wetness and rub it around to make her even more sensitive. And then …” He blows gently on Steve’s ear. Steve moans. “Just like that. You want to wait. Don’t give her your mouth until she’s whining and shovin’ up at you for it.”

“Nngh,”

Bucky chuckles and circles the wet pad of his finger over one testicle and then the other. He nudges at Steve’s taut sac and whispers in his ear. “Push her lips apart.”

Steve is breathing hard through his nose, tense, his dick bobbing rock hard and angry in the air. Bucky has mercy on him and reaches for it, and Steve chokes out a sob of relief at only the slightest touch.

Bucky kisses his temple soothingly. “Shh. Here. Riiight here.” He holds the head between his thumb and fingers and starts jacking just the tip of him, foreskin tugging and gliding in that way that he knows feels amazing for Steve. “Right above her sweet spot, see? You rub on her like this, up and down, back and forth. Work the hood over her clit juuust like this.”

Steve makes a debased groan at the echo of what Bucky’s saying, and how he’s working Steve’s foreskin over the head of his dick. “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses.

“Yeah, you’re close. She’s soaked by now. You think it’s time to give her more?”

“Bucky. Yes, yes, please.” His hips are straining upwards but he lets his head loll back on Bucky’s shoulder, open for what he’ll do next. “Please,” he begs.

“Now this is important, baby, so pay attention,” Bucky says. “Some women like a mouth on ‘em down there, some don’t. Some do, but they have a hang up over how they think they look or taste or something.” Steve makes a sad noise at that, matching Bucky’s opinion that: yeah, women shouldn’t worry so much. Pussy is just generally fucking awesome. “Tell her how much you love it,” he says. “The taste of her, the shape of her lips. Make her feel pretty and wanted.” He’s fondling Steve’s balls anew as he says this, rubbing and rolling them, then cupping his whole palm over them and dipping behind to dig fingertips into his taint. “Come on, Stevie,” he goads, “Let me hear it. Tell me what you’d say.”

It takes Steve a few tries before he can pull enough of his brain out of his dick to rasp, “S’fucking gorgeous p-pussy. So … so wet. Can I lick it Honey, huh? Please lemme lick it. Wanna taste that sweet cunt.”

Bucky gasps, shocked and delighted at Steve’s dirty talk. “Oh, Stevie,” he groans. “Baby. Fuck, yes. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He wraps his hand fully around Steve’s cock and starts jerking him off fast, fast enough that it’s obvious he’s finally aiming to make Steve cum, and Steve chokes on a relieved heave of breath.

"Yes! Oh, thank you!”

Bucky attacks Steve’s neck with his mouth, biting and smearing spit and scraping his teeth over the wet skin. He growls as he watches his fist working furiously over Steve's red, hard dick. “Suck her clit while you fuck her on your fingers,” he rasps. “Tell her she’s a good girl, tell her to ride your face, grind down on your hand. Make sure she knows she’s allowed to let go.”

Steve cries out, guttural and loud like he always gets when his pleasure is cresting. “Bucky, Buck. Honey, oh. F-fuck, m’close.”

“Mmhm. Thaat’s it, Princess,” he says, pitching his voice just so and using that name so that Steve knows. Knows he’s talking to her.

Steve whines, his whole body tight and straining into Bucky’s grip.

“Curl your fucking fingers in her,” Bucky growls. “She’s close. Don’t slow down. Don’t even speed up. She likes what you’re doing now, so don’t you dare fucking change a thing.”

“Bucky!”

“That’s it, Princess, just like that. You’re almost there.”

“Fuck, fuck … ssshit …”

“Ride Daddy’s hand, fuck back on it. Good girl.”

Steve jerks and shouts, cock pulsing in telltale contractions, before searing ropes of come shoot up his stomach and all over Bucky’s hand. “Oh, oh, oh!” He grunts through it with gorgeous sounds, and Bucky’s so in love with the sight of it that he’s not roleplaying anymore when he purrs, “Fucking beautiful, Sweetheart.”

Steve slumps when it’s over, still panting from the pleasure. Bucky eases off, sets his wet and slowly softening dick gently against his stomach. He moves them, guiding Steve to turn over and lie out on his front. He shoves Steve’s legs together and straddles them, swipes his hand that’s covered in Steve’s release into the tight space between his thighs, wetting him up. He growls viciously, pent up and rock hard and ready to fucking cum. He ruts into the wet clench of Steve’s thick thighs, fucking him like he’s got a loose, easy cunt. “Fuck, baby,” he grits, close within a matter of minutes. He chases his orgasm and collapses onto Steve’s broad back when it hits, grinding in hard one last time and shouting loud and guttural with how goddamn good it feels. “Fuck! Ughn, f-ffuuck.”

He comes down heaving, panting against Steve’s skin. Steve is strong enough that he can roll out from under his weight, and he pulls Bucky into his arms and draws his head onto his chest. Bucky goes gratefully, happy to have Steve’s firm pecs as a pillow. “God, honey,” he breathes, wrung out. Steve makes a noise of agreement. They just lie there together, sweaty and spent, catching their breath for a long time.

“... Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“… You’re a good teacher.”

Bucky laughs and crawls up to kiss Steve on the mouth. “Yeah,” he says when they part. “But that wasn’t even the main event.” Steve looks confused for a second, before Bucky slyly clarifies: “You still gotta fuck her. And you know you want to make her cum at least twice.”

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 1 month

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Pauline Léon timeline

A timeline over the 70 year old life of Pauline Leclerc née Léon, based primarily on the article Pauline Léon, une républicaine révolutionnaire (2006) by Claude Guillon.

19 October 1767 — Mathurine Téholan and Pierre Paul Léon are married in the parish of Saint-Severin in Paris. Pierre Paul runs a small chocolate business on 356 rue de Grenelle. The couple settles on rue du Basq.

28 September 1768 — birth of Anne Pauline Léon, the couple’s first child. They later have four more children — Antoine Paul Louis (1772-1835), Marie Reine Antoinette, (1778), François Paul Mathurin (1779) as well as a child who’s sex and year of birth remains unknown. Pauline later describes her father as: ”a philosopher” and adds: ”If his lack of fortune did not allow him to give us a very brilliant education, at least he left us with no prejudices.”

1784 — death of Pierre Paul Léon. Pauline, aged sixteen, now starts helping her mother with keeping the chocolate business running in order to provide for the family.

14 July 1789 — Fall of the Bastille. Pauline claims to upon this event have felt ”the liveliest enthusiam, and although a woman I did not remain idle; I was seen from morning to evening animating the citizens against the artisans of tyranny, urging them to despise and brave aristocrats, barricading streets, and inciting the cowardly to leave their homes to come to the aid of the fatherland in danger.”

February 1791 — Pauline is introduced to several popular societies in Paris. She herself claims she would frequent the Cordelier Club up until 1794 (though there doesn’t seem to exist any trace of her in the debates held there), the Fraternal Society of Patriots of Both Sexes (where again, we have few documents that mention any direct activity from her part), as well as the section of Mucius Scaevola. The same month, Pauline defenestrates a bust of Lafayette “at Fréron’s”. It seems unlikey for this attack to have been aimed at the journalist Stanislas Fréron, who frequently denounced Lafayette in his l’Orateur du Peuple, but rather his mother Anne Françoise Fréron, who handled the publishing of the royalist paper L’Ami du Roi.

21 June 1791 — Pauline, her mother and their neighbor Constance Évrard are near the Palais Royal loudly protesting the king’s ”infamous treason” (his flight) when they, according to her, are ”almost assassinated by Lafayette’s mouchards” and are saved by other sans-culottes who manage to snatch them ”from the hands of these monsters” (National guardsmen)

17 July 1791 — Pauline takes part in the demonstration on the Champ-de-Mars. On the way home, she uses her fists to defend a friend against the family of a national guard. This last incident is witnessed by Constance Evrard, another sans-culotte woman and friend of Pauline, who reports it during an interrogation. This is the first conserved trace of any militant activities from Pauline.

Late February 1792 — l’Adresse individuelle à l’Assemblée nationale par des citoyennes de la capitale, a petition regarding women’s right to bear arms, is penned down. It was most likely written by Pauline herself, seeing as the first signature on the bottom of the handwritten version kept in the National Archives, as well as the only one appearing in the version printed by order of the Assembly, is “fille Léon.” After Pauline’s name about 310 more follow, including that of her mother and many other daughter-mother couples. The petition is first read out before the Society of Patriots of Both Sexes, which, under the presidency of Tallien, orders its printing and distribution.

March 9 1792 — the Patriotic Society of the Luxembourg section sends a delegation to the Fraternal Society of Patriots of Both Sexes to request affiliation. The latter club grants the request and appoints five auditors to attend the former’s next meeting, among which are three women: Pauline Léon, Constance Evrard and Marie-Charlotte Hardon. Pauline will actively participate in the recruitment of members for the Patriotic Society, personally presenting or supporting at least seven candidates between October 1792 and September 1793

June 1792 — Pauline, along with many other men and women, signs Pétition individuelle au corps législatif pour lui demander la punition de tous les conspirateurs that calls for ”a quick vengeance” against monarchist ministers.

10 August 1792 — Pauline takes part in the Insurrection of August 10. She describes her activities in the following way: "On August 10, 1792, after spending part of the night in the Fontaine-de-Grenelle section, I joined the next day, armed with a pike, the ranks of the citizens of this section to go and fight the tyrant and his satellites. It was only at the request of almost all the patriots that I consented to give up my weapon to a sans-culotte; I gave it to him, however, only on the condition that he would use it well.”

December 1792 — Pauline, together with 3 other women and 88 men, signs the Adresse au peuple par la Société patriotique de la section du Luxembourg which demands the death of the king and pronounces threats against eventual monarchist deputies.

2 February 1793 — During a session at the Fraternal Society of Patriots of Both Sexes, Pauline is welcomed as mandated by the Defenders of the Republic of the 84 departments. At the same session, Pauline’s future husband Théophile Leclerc (1771-1820) is charged with writing a petition against commodity money. This is the first known meeting between the two.

3 February 1793 — during the session at The Fraternal Society of Patriots of Both Sexes, ”Citoyenne Léon” takes the floor to continue a denounciation against Dumouriez that Hébert has just made. Le Créole patriote reports that ”she thinks, like him, that [Dumouriez] is nothing more than an intrigant; she accuses him of several things, notably the persecution he inflicted on two patriotic battalions unjustly accused by him.”

10 February 1793 — Le Créole patriote reports the following regarding the session at The Fraternal Society of Patriots of Both Sexes:

Citoyenne Léon informs of an important denunciation made to the Commune and to the society of defenders of the republic, one and indivisible of the 84 departments. This denunciation, signed, states that on the 6th of the month a dinner was held at the house of Garat, minister of justice, provisionally exercising the functions of minister of interior, where Brissot, Barbaroux, Louvet and other noirs, composing the great and famous right side of the National Convention; plus, Bournonville, new minister of war. She calls on the society to monitor the latter, and asks that two of its members be sent to that of the Jacobins to communicate to them this fact, to which the most serious attention must be paid. Boussard makes the motion that the president be instructed to write to Bournonville, so that he can give the company explanations on this subject. These three proposals are adopted.

At the Jacobin Club the same day, ”a citoyenne,” in the name of the Fraternal Society of Patriots of Both Sexes, makes the following intervention: ”Citizens, I denounce to you Garat, minister of justice, who last Wednesday had thirty people to dinner, among which were Brissot, Barbaroux, Louvet and Beurnonville. The patriots do not have entry to this minister, and Brissot comes and goes there all the time.” It is very likely this speaker was Pauline.

17 February 1793 — Le Créole patriote reports that, during the session at The Fraternal Society of Patriots of Both Sexes, ”citoyenne Léon reads a denunciation from Citizen Godchaux against General Félix Wemphen. Several members believe that this denunciation is well founded, and urge the society to tear off the mask from all the intriguers.”

10 May 1793 — Pauline is a co-founder of the Society of Revolutionary and Republican Women (Société des Républicaines révolutionnaires or Société des citoyennes républicaines révolutionnaires de Paris), a club which only admits women as members and holds its meetings at the libary of the Jacobins, rue Saint-Honoré. Claire Lacombe, who often gets mentioned as another co-founder, actually doesn’t have her first attested appearance as a member of the society until June 26. Already on the May 12, the club presents itself at the Jacobins, proposing to arm patriotic women between ages 18 and 50 in order to organize them against the Vendée. A week later, May 19, a delegation made up of members from both the Cordeliers and Revolutionary and Republican Women present themselves before the Jacobins yet again, asking for the arrest of all suspect people, the establishment of both revolutionary tribunals in all departments and a revolutionary sans-culotte army in every town, an act of accusation against the girondins, the extermination of “the stockbrokers, the hoarders and the selfish merchants” who are responsible for a conspiracy attempting to starve the people, that the revolutionary army of Paris be increased to 40,000 men, that land be distributed to the soldiers, as well as the send forth of the petition to the Convention. Though Pauline’s presence can be supposed for both of these occasions, we don’t have any hard evidence for it.

2 June 1793 — Pauline leads a delegation from the Society of Revolutionary and Republican Women wishing to be admitted to the Convention, carrying a request in her own handwriting. They are however quickly forgotten in the tumult caused by the Insurrection of May 31, which this day ends with 22 girondins being put under house arrest. During this same insurrection, several Revolutionary and Republican Women are arrested, and Pauline, as president of the Society, signs a warrant by which they demand the liberation of one of them, detained for having threatened three men with a knife.

June 1793 — Pauline is the author of a denounciation against the grocer Le Doux, rue du Sépulcre, accused of “bad comments,” mainly consisting of complains about the looting. We don’t know if the denounciation had any consequences.

9 July 1793 — Le Réglement de la Société des citoyennes républicaines révolutionnaires de Paris is published. The document is signed by president Rousaud and four secretaires: Potheau, Monier, Dubreuil och Pauline Léon.

July 10 1793 — Pauline goes to the Jacobin club, where she, ”in the name of the Revolutionary and Republican Women, presents a petition demanding the exclusion of nobles from all employments.”

July 20 1793 — A Délibération de la Société des Républicaines révolutionnaires, relative à l’érection d’un obélisque à la mémoire de Marat, sur la place du Carrousel, is signed by Pauline. The text is read at the Jacobins on July 26, by a deputation from the Society of Revolutionary and Republican Women.

July 31 1793 — Réglement de la Société des citoyennes républicaines révolutionnaires de Paris is published. The document is signed by the president, Rousaud, and four secretaries: Potheau, Monier, Dubreuil and Pauline Léon.

15 August 1793 — At the Jacobin club, ”citoyenne Léon, at the head of a deputation from the Society of Revolutionary and Republican Women, comes to request assimilation and correspondence for said Society. She also asks that the Jacobins contribute to the costs of the obelisk erected in Marat’s honor.”

30 October 1793 — Jean Pierre André Amar, member of the Committee of General Security, announces the dissolution of the Society of Revolutionary Women to the National Convention.

12 November 1793 — the marriage contract between Pauline Léon and Théophile Leclerc is signed. Through it, we see that the husband brings property valued at 300 livres, while the wife holds 1000 livres consisting of both money and effects. Pauline was in other words richer than Leclerc. She declares to after her marriage have returned to the chocolate making business and ”devoted myself entirely to the care of my household and given the example of conjugal love and the domestic virtues which are the basis of love of the homeland.”

March 17 1794 — Pauline joins Leclerc at La Fère (Aisne), where the latter is mobilizing.

April 3 1794 — the Leclerc couple are arrested on orders given by the Committee of General Security. They are taken to Paris and locked up in the Luxembourg prison three days later.

4 July 1794 — At the Luxembourg prison, Pauline either writes or dictates Précis de la conduite révolutionnaire de dame Pauline Léon, femme Leclerc, which is adressed to the Committee of General Security. It is from this document we learn almost all the details regarding her militant activities and private life. Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to find it published in full.

5 August 1794 — Pauline writes to ”sensible Tallien” and pleads for the cause of ”800 imprisoned people.” One day later she adresses herself to to ”the representatives” and asks them to at least consider a prompt examination of their case. Pauline claims that Leclerc and Pierre-François Réal were imprisoned for having "collected evidence against the accomplices of the tyrant Robespierre who were to have their throats slit." The following day, the two men are brought before the Committee of General Security. Réal is immediately set free, Pauline and Théophile joins him on August 22.

22 July 1804 — Pauline writes the following letter (cited in full within the article Un sans-culotte parisien en l’an XII: François Léon, frère de Pauline Léon (1982) by Michael David Sibalis) to Réal, by now one of those in charge of the general police, asking for the liberation of her younger brother François Paul Mathurin, imprisoned since three and a half months back for having written and published leaflets critical of Napoleon. Through the letter, we learn about some things that have happened in her life during the ten years since the last trace of her:

4 Thermidor [year 12] Monsieur, A month ago I presented a petition to the Grand Judge; at the same time I had the honor of writing to you, to request the release of my brother, named François Léon, imprisoned in the Bicêtre for a bad verse; I would ask for your indulgence, today I appeal to your justice; four months of such harsh detention had to atone for his fault; moreover his friend guilty of the same extravagance, since of two verses, one wrote the first and the other the second, was released; my brother is not more guilty, perhaps he is less; his delicacy did not allow him to justify himself at the expense of his friend; which certainly does not deserve punishment. Based on this, Monsieur, I believe I have the right to ask for his release; and I have the firm confidence that you will grant it to us; if you could still deign to think of his mother, who is old and more punished than him. This poor woman is exhausted trying to help and console him. She who needs help for herself, I am not talking to you about the grief her family is experiencing at the loss of my time (which is precious since it must be used to feed my son and relieve my mother), having, Monsieur, the advantage of having known you, I think you will not disdain these considerations. Salut and respect, Femme Leclerc Teacher (Instritutrice) Rue Jean Robert No. 4

François will be set free and leave Paris, the police having labeled him as a ”pronounced anarchist, difficult to correct.” In his interrogation, held May 2 1804 (it too cited in full within Un sans-culotte parisien en l’an XII…) he reveals that he is a tailor living alone on rue du Vieux Colombier N. 744 and ”very republican.”François’ accomplice Jean Sorret did in his interrogation claim that his friend was ”a pronounced jacobin, as is the rest of his family.”

October 5 1838 — death of Pauline in Bourbon-Vendée, rue de Bordeaux, one week after her seventieth birthday. She had moved there to settle with her sister Marie Reine Antoinette and her family somewhere between 1812 and 1835.

#pauline léon #frev #french revolution

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marie-hardon · 2 months

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Wie gefallen dir meine neuen blauen Dessous? 😏💙

#mariehardon #blondine #germany #sexbombe #tattoos #model #deutschland #homepage #fanshop

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consecratedhearts · 6 years

Photo

"Model of Faith" by Father John A. Hardon:

The Blessed Virgin lived in such physical proximity and loving intimacy with her divine Son as no one ever has or can hope to experience. She carried Him in her womb for nine months. She nursed Him. She bathed Him. She clothed Him. She took care of Him in His infancy. She was with Him, near Him, and close to Him physically and emotionally as only a loving mother can be close to the child whom she brought into the world. Mary was always thinking of Jesus.

Yet, all the while, what did she see in Bethlehem? A helpless infant. A growing child. A young man. That's what she saw with her bodily eyes. But what did she believe? She believed that this Infant, this Child, this young Man was no mere human being. She knew He was human, but she believed in His divinity because her mind penetrated beyond the veils of what her eyes and ears and hands could experience.

Faith penetrates. Faith sees. Faith knows what the senses cannot perceive and even the human reason cannot comprehend. The Church speaks of the "Lumen fidei," the Light of faith. Mary saw. It cannot be too strongly emphasized or too often insisted that Mary had to live by faith. She saw only a helpless, speechless baby, yet she believed He was the almighty Word of God.

This then is the first foundational lesson we learn from Mary in our veneration of the Holy Eucharist. Like her, we must come before the Blessed Sacrament with total undiluted faith. We believe that which the pagan, sophisticated, over-educated world tells us is a dream. When we come before the Blessed Sacrament, we need to break through the crust of what the senses perceive and what the mind rationally would tell us, believing more than we can see, believing more than we can touch, believing more than we can experience with our senses or even fathom with our minds. This is why we speak of Our Lady as the model of our faith.

"Oh Mary, Virgin most faithful, pray for us that our faith may become more and more like yours."

(picture source: https://www.discerninghearts.com/catholic-podcasts/lady-consolation-novena-day-6-mp3-audio-text/)

#Virgin Most Faithful #Father John Hardon #Mother of the Eucharist #Blessed Virgin Mary #model of faith #light of faith

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lovelyyy-luna · 2 years

Text

dinner time

pairing: (negan smith x fem!reader)

fandom: the walking dead

pronouns: she/her

type: smut

warning: p in v, blow jobs, fingering

word count: 784

date: april 1, 2022

masterlist

He and you were isolated and that was how the two of you liked it.

You both found a nice little cabin by the edge of the lake.

It was owned by a nice old couple, Mary and Sebastian. You found them turned, they were walking together. It was kinda romantic that even in death they were still together.

The two of you did the humane thing and buried them next to each other under the old oak tree.

A few months had gone by and you and Negan made this place your home.

You had just finished making dinner and once the table was set you went outside and called Negan in.

He sat at the table and you stood up fixing his plate.

“Why darlin’ this looks so good,” he said with a smile.

While you were hovering over the table his hand grazed up your thigh and you swatted it away playfully.

“Come on darlin’ can't we have just a little fun before dinner?”

“Before dinner? Babe, I'm literally putting food on your plate. And I don't want this food to go to waste.”

“It won't. It'll be quick,” he said with his version of puppy eyes.

You groaned with slight annoyance, “But you know I hate quickies.” you say while you swing your leg over and straddle him.

“Well I'll take my time with you then,” he said, lightly kissing you and gripping your thighs.

You slowly started grinding into him and his tongue grazed your bottom lip.

You could feel him getting hard between you and there was a hitch in his breath every time you moved across his hardon.

You got up from your position and went between his legs and undid his pants. His dick popped out and was laced with his precum.

You started to stroke him and were making eye contact with you the whole time and when you put him in your mouth he started whispering, “That's it, baby girl. Your mouth was made for my cock.”

He got up from the chair and stood up while still, his dick was still in your mouth.

You placed your head on the edge of the table and he slightly hovered over the table.

He started to thrust into your mouth causing your gag but it made your mouth wet and turned you on even more.

He was close and knew that if he came now he would be out of it and that wouldn't be fair to you.

He gripped your hair and took himself out of your mouth and when he took it out there was a link of spit between you and him.

He let your hair go and then bent over and grabbed you by your neck causing you to moan. You stood up and he kissed you. Your mouth and your face were covered with your spit but he didnt care.

He moved some of the plates away from the table and picked you up and placed you on the table.

His hands went back around your neck and the other snaked down between your legs. You were already soaking, his fingers slipped in and he slowly curled his fingers in you, teasing you.

You started to whine and a smile rose onto his face.

He loved seeing you undone. Every time his fingers curled hitting your sweet spot tears rolled down your face.

He knows your own body better than you do. He pulled you closer by the neck and he could tell you were close.

He whispered into your ear, “come on baby girl. just cum for me. I need you to let go.”

As if on command you did. You came all over his hand.

You were tired and so was he. You collapsed into his chest and the both of you were breathing hard.

He tilted your head up, “You hungry darlin’?”

“Yeah a little”

“Okay, why don’t you get into bed and I'll fix you a plate. hmm?”

You nodded and once you got your feet on the ground your legs turned to jelly and you sat down right away in the chair

He turned around from the kitchen and pieced it together, “Aww your legs are a little shaky?”

You nod again and he walks over to you and scoops you up bridal style.

You nuzzled your face into his neck and peppered kisses on it causing him to chuckle, “Slow down darlin’ don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Who said I can't finish?” you say looking up at him and he had that devilish smile on his face.

After saying that he threw you on the bed and got between your legs once again.

♡please like comment and/or reblog♡

wanna be tagged? (X)

tags: // @fandomxreader // @mrspetxrs // @negan-lover-blog // @Detective-oof // @a-astxr // @meromelo // @alexxavicry //

#lovelybean #the walking dead #twd #negan #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan smith #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan smith x y/n #jeffrey dean morgan #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan x you #jeffrey dean morgan x y/n

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laufire · 3 years

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SPN (I am sorry, I have to xDD)

How are you not tired of hearing me talk about SPN. Hoooow xDD.

Anyway, for the meme’s purpose: I’m caught up with exactly where I left the show the first time around, aka the s4 finale.

the first character I ever fell in love with: Ruby, hands down. I already knew she was a demon going in (3x01 was my first episode ever), but even if I hadn’t I would’ve fallen for her with the reveal in 3x02. She remains my fave and one of the greatest characters in the entire show, IMO. The best of those sons of bitches!

a character that I used to love/like, but now do not: hmm, n/a for now I guess? Beyond my back and forth with everything Dean Winchester I guess xDD

a ship that I used to love/like, but now do not: same?

my ultimate favourite character™: Ruby, although Castiel has a lot going for him and he could have an edge later on.

prettiest character: I’m going with Bela Talbot, although there are countless beautiful characters (women) in this show. But like. The way they styled her especially?? She was in SIX EPISODE, sometimes in as little as just one (1) scene?? But they went ALL OUT. Honorable mention to young!John Winchester. He had NO RIGHT to be so stupidly pretty. He was Dick Grayson pretty!! Dick Grayson!! It’s horrible xD

my most hated character: Dean. Our relationship is Complicated(TM) (he’s a Schrödinger fave lol), but he’s particularly irksome in s4 so (MUST he be Right All The Time, even when he’s being a massive piece of shit?? Tell me again how it’s okay for your brother to die during detox because “at least he dies human!!” you walking waste).

my OTP: Samruby forevah and evah. I have a pretty nice shipping armada with this show already, and as you can personally attest I could probably ship Castiel with a rock xD, but Samruby has a very special place in my heart. It was very formative.

my NOTP: there are some ships that I sort-of-hate because of Dean’s involvement but I have to admit they don’t leave me ~unaffected smh xD. Ask me again about those in a few seasons. At this moment, I’d say John/Mary, because I find the whole Cupid-made-them-do-it-but-their-endgame-is-still-together incredibly offputting.

favourite episode: arrrrgh this one is so difficult. The top candidates are 3x03 (Bela’s intro), 3x12 (Ruby’s GLORIOUS “I told you so” *-*) 4x09-10 (they kinda go together. Sexy Samruby flashbacks, Anna’s intro, Deanruby reluctant in-laws nonsense, Anna/Castiel(/Dean) shenanigans...), and 4x16 (gr10 Castiel and Anna/Castiel moments, perfect Samruby, Dean at his most entertaining...).

saddest death: Ruby’s is more frustrating than sad (she could’ve been such a good addition to later plots ugh. Not to mention, I’m still pissed Dean is the one who had the killshot. Ruby, Sam, and myself all deserved for the one who stabbed her to be Sam ¬¬. Hell, based on how they talked about it in 15x13, I’m clearly not the only one who feels this way lol).

favourite season: hmm... s4 has a lot of frustrating things but I did devour it eagerly, so xD. For now, s4. s3 is really close too, but I keep going back to how awful I felt after “Ghostfacers”, so.

least favourite season: s4 in a way too xDD. IDK, tbh I can’t pick a “least” fave, they all had that... greatness marinated in bigotry and hypocritical protagonist-centered morality aftertaste xDD

a character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but I hate: the hate part of my love-hate relationship with Dean goes here, I GUESS. And huh, saying “hate” would be a stretch because I did like his appearances, but I get the feeling the fandom’s hardon for Gabriel, of all the freaking angels, is going to annoy me at some point.

my ‘you’re a piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: Dean lol. And also Chuck aka God. Like, where else I’m going to get such a chaotic canonically bisexual, Big Bad Christian God that’s also a metaphor for writers xDD. And if I’m honest, most of my SPN faves/characters should go here. Who isn’t a piece of trash sometimes in this show, really.

my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: given the morality curve on this show, at this point BELA is the better fit lmfao. Jack will probably go here too.

my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but I still love it’ ship: if I feel no shame about Samruby, I don’t see how I’d feel it for anything else lol. I look forward to shipping Castiel and Lucifer, for one :P

my ‘they’re kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but I’m not too invested’ ship: hmm... Bobby/Rufus? The ex-married vibes they give off are A Lot, and I haven’t even seen them interact in a proper scene xDD. Out of all the ships I’m into they’re the only one that SO FAR could be said to be “lowkey”, everything else is “GIVE IT TO ME NOW” or “I don’t want to be into this, but I am. Dammit” xDD.

#missbrunettebarbie #replies #talking to the void #my thoughts #spn thoughts #supernatural #ttl #ty!

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arturas-writes · 3 years

Text

the one time our group did sexy roleplay

Obligatory not a recent story but I was going through my campaign notes from way back when and damned if I’m leaving this one in oblivion.

Warning: not very many sexy times, mostly just ridiculousness, and potential ruination of Star Wars.

To set the scene: we were playing Star Wars tabletop (the Fantasy Flight Games variant) and our party was... neutrally inclined, shall we say, leaning a bit towards dark. We were general outer rim lowlifes/low-grade Force sensitives who had taken a gig to sneak aboard a pleasure yacht running a high-stakes gambler’s retreat to a) damage and-or ruin the yacht, ending the cruise before anyone could claim the prize and b) ensure one particular Imperial officer didn’t make it off the yacht alive.

If that doesn’t sound particularly neutral - we wanted the credits and were pretty well-versed in jumping through in-character logic hoops to convince ourselves we weren’t “bad people”, even if we were inclined to rack up more Dark Side than Light Side points. (That would be metagaming, you see.)

Long story short: we got aboard. Being the face of the party, my Devaronian smuggler set himself up as a high roller and did his best to attract as much attention as possible over dinner in the hopes of snagging a private match with the officer in question. The rest of the party were not as happy, having been introduced as either his slaves or arm-candy, but he was having a grand old time. (The party weren’t especially inclined to getting along with each other in the first place which definitely helped everyone show the proper level of animosity towards each other.)

Like clockwork, the officer approached him. Things started out normal, then I crit-succeeded a social check, and next thing my smuggler knew the officer was hitting on him… hard. Footsies-under-the-table, hand-way-too-high-on-the-leg, whoops-did-I-mention-I’m-well-endowed-and-have-a-hardon-for-aliens levels of non-subtlety. The officer’s aide (who was sober) looked exasperated but also sadly unsurprised; the Twi’lek pilot PC playing my arm candy was more amused than much else, plus rather thankful the officer wasn’t hitting on her instead.

My smuggler had been around the block more than once, though, and even if the mission hadn’t required it he would have been down for a quick romp just to annoy the pilot, so the DM got to rapidly change tack as his attempt to put my character on the back foot misfired.

(It’s very possible I was just a bit drunk at the time - in and out of character - and while I wasn’t going to put the train on the sexy tracks, I’d be damned if I was the one to pull the emergency brakes. My character was also a manwhore in every sense of the word so it’s not like I had to act OOC for him to be fine with it.)

Things went somewhat disturbingly well and soon an invitation was made to accompany him to his private suite. Alone, even – no guards. Perfect. My smuggler figured he’d get inside and could either end things before they got awkward or get a little side action before fulfilling the mission (he wasn’t picky and had zero self-esteem to begin with so it wasn’t like he gave a shit if he was just a fetish to the Imperial officer); he dismissed the tech with just a bit too much brevity and went along with things, no question.

As we headed to the officer’s room and he ordered his guards to stand watch outside, all the players were a little... on-edge. If you’ve ever seen the “whizzard” comic you probably understand why. Especially once the DM had the officer attempt one last hail-mary plea for leniency and outright state that he had a kink that previous partners had... walked out on, shall we say, but he needed it for the sex to go ahead.

Out of character, my smuggler had been relieved of all weapons and was not nearly tanky enough to put the officer down without the guard being called. The only weapon available was the officer’s own disruptor pistol and it wasn’t silenced, so he needed at least a vaguely plausible excuse (and a chance to snag it) before he could pull the trigger on the encounter.

Did I mention I’d explicitly written my smuggler as moderately self-destructive and willing to do basically anything in the pursuit of credits, with charisma out the ass and way, way too much fake confidence? (Hello, lovechild of Atton Rand and Han Solo - what are you doing here?)

As a player, I was moderately tipsy and figured that things could only get so awkward before someone grabbed the literal and-or figurative gun, so why not see just what the DM would classify as horrible enough to make people walk out on someone? I couldn’t think of anything that bad...

In-character, my smuggler resigned himself to scrapping whatever dignity he had left and figured he’d just abuse the cruise’s open bar later. Mission first, and hey - sex was sex. “I’m a broadly cultured man,” he lied through his teeth, hoping against hope he wouldn’t have to eat his words later. “I’m down for whatever you can throw at me.”

The table was quiet. The challenge had been issued.

With only a little hesitation, the DM said, “One moment. I need to bring up something on the laptop.”

Nobody spoke. What horrors were we about to endure? What traumatising scenes would we bear witness to? What heretofore unknown depths of our DM’s fetishes were we about to unwillingly learn?

Maybe this was a mistake, I thought to myself. Maybe I pushed too far.

In-game, the officer hesitated too, but only briefly. “Very well,” he said. “I will not judge you if you leave. My kink… is I need this.”

We sit in silence as the DM presses a key, stony-faced.

From the bedroom’s inbuilt speakers – and the Bluetooth speaker we used for atmosphere – the opening ditty of the goddamn cantina song began to play.

And that’s the story of how my DM turned the Star Wars cantina song into an auto-include on all future sex playlists for half the table and was banned from running any kind of sexy scenes for any Star Wars games we played together.

#star wars #tabletop games #star wars tabletop #fantasy flight games #star wars cantina #tales from the tabletop

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ollieologys · 5 years

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NOT MY IDEA but I really like it :Peter thinking it's hot when you get sarcastic. Literally all day your being sarcastic with everyone cuz your in a mood and he literally is walking around with a huge hardon. When yall get home and you give him sass, hes pinning you up against the door and whispering in your ear, "try using that tone with me and I'll fuck you till you cant think straight" and reader saying “I’d like to see you try Parker”

title; Try It

summary; You have an attitude all day and refuse to talk about why, so Peter shows you where moody behavior gets you.

pairing; Aged Up!Peter Parker x Reader

words; 1.1k

warning; smut!! like SMUT SMUT. peter and reader are both 18+ in this. unprotected sex and swearing lol

note; thanks so much for the request! hope u enjoy @loxbbg

It was an understatement to say you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Peter noticed instantly. He woke up before you, which seldom happens, and wrapped his arms around your torso. “G’ morning, baby,” Peter grumbled into your neck. He expected you to giggle softly - he knew how ticklish you were - and kiss him. Instead, you merely groaned and shut your eyes tighter.

He attempted to remind you that today you were going to meet up with old high school friends, but your attitude seeped its way through your voice, and he decided to not bother you for a while. Peter wondered what was wrong, but he didn’t want to offend you by pushing it, so he didn’t mention anything.

You, Peter, MJ, Betty, Ned, and Flash all met at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. While everyone was excited to reconnect and catch up, you had a small smile on your face and spent a majority of the meeting quiet. MJ pointed out your unusual behavior after your coffee came.

“Y/N, you’re quieter than usual, is everything alright?” She asked you. Peter turned to face you, wondering how you’d answer.

“Yeah, everything’s just perfect MJ.” Sarcasm oozed out your voice. MJ rolled her eyes, nothing bothering to respond as she went back to a conversation with Ned. You felt Peter’s gaze on you, silently questioning your moody conduct, but you simply shook your head and sipped your coffee.

On the ride back, Peter brought up your mood once more as he tried to make you feel better. “Wanna stop for ice cream, babe?” He asked, smiling at you.

“Oh, yeah, cause that’s gonna make me feel so much better, Peter.”

His smile dropped. Peter scoffed, glaring at the road in front of him. He loved you deeply, more than he could describe with words, and even though you rarely had an attitude the way you had today, Peter didn’t appreciate how it was directed towards him as well. Not to mention how unbelievably good you looked today. You looked good every day, yes, but something about your dull stare and uncaring strides turned something dangerous on in Peter.

Peter allowed you to walk into your shared apartment first. Shutting the door behind him, he dropped his keys onto the counter and spoke with his back facing you.

“What are you all moody today for?” He grumbled.

“Don’t know what you mean. I feel perfect,” Your sarcasm was thick.

“God, Y/N. You piss me off when you do that, just tell me what’s wrong,” He pleaded, a tension building.

“Fuck off, Peter,”

He stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowed. “Quit pushing me away, Y/N,”

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” You taunted him, stepping so close you could hear his breathing. He was never one to get angry with you, always calm and collected. He matured that way as the two of you got older. Still, you had some immaturities of a young adult and occasionally pushed his buttons.

“Don’t play with me,” He warned, his voice lower and quieter.

You glared as you were at a loss for words. You wouldn’t admit how much it turned you on when Peter got like this - demanding and in control. Especially in moments like this. Still, you continued to push to his limit.

“Why not? You won’t do shit.”

Almost immediately, he pushed you against the hallway wall and slammed his lips against your own. Peter cupped your neck between his hands, his grip tightening just ever so slightly. He kissed you hungrily, his mouth moving from yours to your neck, tilting your head to the side and leaving lovebites in a constellation pattern. You were trapped against the wall as his hand slid down your front and slipping through your underwear. A gasp escaped your mouth, and Peter growled against your neck. His fingers were fast, but teasing, grazing your heat momentarily before pulling his hand away.

A distressed whine left your lips. “Jump,” He said, and you did. Peter’s hands groped the back of your thighs as he carried you from the hallway to your bed, tossing you as though you were as light as a feather. You pushed a strand of hair out of your face and watched as he took off his sweater and button-up quickly, eyes trailing from his abs to his v-line. You expected him to take off his jeans next, but instead, he pushed you further into the bed and pulled down your jeans and underwear at once. “Peter–” you started, but his face moved between your legs.

Usually, he kissed your thighs before devouring your heat. This time, his tongue moved in up-and-down and circular motions instantly - and fast. “Oh, fuck, Peter–!” You moaned, hands pulling at his hair. He smiled against you, moving his fingers to join with his mouth and only urging you to cry out.

“I’m gonna–I’m gonna–” Words felt challenging to form, and you swore you saw stars as you came. Peter didn’t stop, though. He cleaned you off with his mouth, turning you on a tenfold, and his tongue consumed you as though you were his last meal on Earth. He felt your legs shake on his shoulders, his heightened hearing causing the sounds of your moaning and gasping to run through his ears. He felt himself get harder by the moment.

You came for a second time, your fingers grasping the sheets desperately.

“Are you gonna use that tone with me again or do I have to fuck you senseless?” He questioned, but he wasted no time waiting for your response. Peter flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you waist to align with his. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything, but you did anyway.

“I’d like to see you try, Parker,”

Peter glowered, unbuckling his jeans and pulling down his boxers. He wasted no time entering you, starting antagonizing slow. You were going to complain, but you realized he was testing you, so you said nothing. It didn’t take long for him to speed up, thrusting in and out of you with a snap of his hips. He grunted, the mere sight of you disheveled turning him on more.

You were a moaning mess. Peter tried to hold back, not wanting to hurt you with his super-strength, but he pulled out of you and flipped you back onto your back. With your mouth gaped open, he leaned down and rested his head on your shoulder as he got close.

“Fuck, baby–” He groaned, pushing you to your own limit and coming. He followed soon after, his come slowly flowing out of you. You gasped for air as Peter fell beside you, your high slowly coming down. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled the sheets over your body.

“I told you not to play with me,” He breathed with a laugh

You smiled and pushed your hair out of your face, moving to sit on his lap and pushing him against the headboard.

“I’ll play with you all the time if I get that in return.”

tagging anyone who might enjoy ;):

@imagine-lovebug , @devin-marie , @marvellousparkerpeter , @softspideyboy , @loveme-hollandx , @minyoongi-ismy-1truelove , @beckykardashian , @bisexual-bella , @poc-gotbang , @zabdisamor , @stiles-newt-bae2210

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christianbalefanatic · 2 years

Text

Christian Bale at a press conference for American Psycho at a hotel in Tokyo, Japan (January 24, 2001)

Re: Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman in American Psycho (2000) dir. Mary Harron

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janeofcakes · 4 years

Text

Keep You Friends Close and Your Enemies Ten Feet from the Pack: Chapter 5

Here we are again, my friends. I apologize for not releasing this one on Friday, but things are so weird now with my new work schedule that I can’t keep track of what day it is. I hope all of you are well and staying safe. Again, my fondest wish is for this tale I weave to bring you some solace and distraction. All I’ll say is, the plot thickens...

And remind you of some terms from chapter 1 so no one gets lost in the bout.

Pack - the largest group of blockers from both teams skating within ten feet of each other.

Blocker - a skater who tries to prevent the jammer from skating around the track and scoring points.

Jammer - the skater who skates around the track and aims to pass all of the blockers on the opposite team. A point is scored for each opposing team blocker the jammer passes.

Lead jammer - the jammer who breaks through the pack first (no points are scored on the initial break through. The lead jammer controls the jam and can call it off at any time, unless in the penalty box.

Jam - or round. Each jam lasts a maximum of two minutes, if the lead jammer does not call it off. Blockers and jammers may be swapped out in between each jam.

-----

That girl is poison. Never trust a big butt and smile. Poison. She's dangerous. -- Biv Devoe, Poison

John blows out a nervous breath as fans deliver a never-ending and utterly deafening cheer around the stadium. KISS’s Detroit Rock City blares from all the speakers while skaters line up on the track for another jam. The music stops and noise dies down a bit only when the timer calls ten seconds, and then a bit more when the whistle is blown and jammers begin working through the pack. John has been with the Rock City Rollers exactly 46 days and tonight is the first bout of the season, his first one ever. He was taken aback by the force of the hits delivered during practice and is completely gobsmacked now. The ladies have taken their play to a whole new level. It does not help that the season opener is always a battle royale between Rock City and the Detroit Demons, the one team Rock City most reviles. Tempers are flaring and hits border on illegal, but no one has been hurt and there have been amazingly few penalties. Even Sherlock does not seem immune to the tension and dislike. Every muscle in his body is tight as ripcord and his voice pinched when the other team’s coach spoke with him before the bout began. The man had taunted him and his team, and Sherlock responded in kind. The funny thing about it was how highbrow the whole thing was. The insults were far more witty than any John had heard on the ice, even among the doctors he had worked with. He wondered if it was normal for derby or just these two men. Most likely, the latter. In any case, John had determined from that one interaction that James Moriarty is a Grade A bastard.

John tightens his fists as Witch Hazel goes down and rolls off the track. The player who hit her penalized and heading for the box as she gets back to her feet. She is back on the track in seconds and John lets his fingers loosen a little. Most hits have been legal, but ruthless. John cannot believe how quickly each of the ladies pops back up after falling. The level of violence from both teams is staggering. Knee and elbow pads, wrist guards just don’t seem like enough to protect the skaters, but none have needed medical attention thus far. John checked them all over during halftime while Sherlock talked strategy. None of it made any sense to John, but what he did notice was the absence of acknowledgement when it came to the physicality of the bout. The coach’s only remarks on it were keep it clean and stay out of the box. There is clearly no love lost between these two teams or coaches and John does not begrudge them. The way Moriarty spoke to Sherlock and the way his eyes traveled down Sherlock’s body made John instantly dislike him. The man’s demeanor during the bout has done nothing to alter John’s opinion. Moriarty seems to quietly congratulate hard-hitting skaters coming off a jam and John is positive the man signals his players. Not the way Sherlock does, but to tell them who to target and where to hit. John might worry more, but he knows none of it is lost on Sherlock. In fact, Sherlock probably has a plan for it since Rock City has played this team so many times before.

The whistle blows again. The Woman has called the jam and everyone but Bone Crusher and Ginger Smacks skates out. Trixie Belt’em and HardOn Skates go in with Mollyscious Intent as their jammer. Sherlock calls out to stay low and Molly gives him a nod. Rock City may have more bruises, but they are also ahead by 25 points.

“Ten seconds!” shouts the official timer.

All skaters are in position, poised to stuff both jammers and keep them behind the pack. The whistle blows and the action begins. The ten women push and shove viciously, the pack moving forward slowly as they do. Suddenly, Molly finds a hole and bursts through to a cheer from the crowd. Meanwhile, Crusher lingers around the trio of blockers from the other team as they wait for Molly to come around the track. Their names are Ring’er Belle, Death StartUp and Smack Krackle Pop. Together they are a wall and have been on the track every time Molly has been in as jammer. Mary, still sidelined, told John that Moriarty has always handpicked blockers for Molly and John can’t help but feel ill at ease whenever these three skaters are on the track.

As Molly flies around to the pack, John glances at Sherlock to see if he feels the same. If he does, he does not show it. John looks back to the track just in time to see Molly screaming toward the pack. She signals Crusher and kicks out for more speed, coming in hotter than ever. John clenches his jaw and can feel his teeth grinding away. Crusher moves to go after Belle and StartUp as Krackle shifts her position to better take the hit Molly is about to deliver. John sees it coming just after Sherlock does.

“Molly!” they both yell, nearly in the same voice.

Just before Molly arrives to the pack, StartUp pulls back and Crusher lurches forward, putting her and Belle right in Molly’s path. It all happens so quickly. Molly slams into the other two women, her face careening into Belle’s elbow and StartUp tightening her fingers around the back of Molly’s neck to try and keep from falling with them. Or forcing Molly’s nose into a harder impact?

All four women go down in a heap. Molly’s hands are on her own face instantly, trying to catch the blood flowing from her nose. John and Sherlock are there in seconds, the doctor falling to his knees next to Molly. To his credit, Sherlock stays back and out of John’s way. He knows he must give the doctor space, in spite of his worry and John is thankful for it.

“Are you all right?” the coach asks Crusher, helping her to her feet. The other skaters on the track drop to one knee, that jam blown dead just after the collision.

“Yeah, yeah,” Crusher catches her breath. “I’m fine.”

“You girls all right?” Moriarty’s cool voice sounds above the crowd noise. The Rock City fans are booing loudly, but quiet down soon enough for the injury time out. The two Demons nod as they rise. “What about yours, Sherrrrlock? Star player okay? I’d hate to see her leave the track for good.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Sherlock growls at the gleam in his eye.

John hears the exchange vaguely, but his focus lies elsewhere. He has a white cloth over Molly’s nose and mouth that quickly stains crimson. He prevents her from rising while asking about dizziness and pain. His finger is moving from side to side in front of Molly’s face while her eyes follow by the time Sherlock looks their way again.

“How is she?” he asks, keeping the concern John knows is there from his voice.

“Help me get her off the track,” John responds. Each man takes an arm and lifts as she pushes to her feet. Upon rising, the silent crowd explodes into cheers and cries of ‘We love you, Mollyscious!’ She gives a thumbs up in response. “Easy, Molly. Easy now.”

John swaps out the bloody cloth for a fresh one and continues his examination once the trio is on the Rock City bench. Sherlock sends Witch Hazel in as jammer and a new jam begins. He only turns away from the action at the sound of John’s voice saying his name.

“I’m taking her to the locker room. It could be a concussion,” he says. He rests a hand on the coach’s arm at his look of alarm. “It’s unlikely, but I want to be sure. She’s okay, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s grey eyes are steely again and he nods before turning away. The bout continues and Sherlock puts all of his focus on it, carefully closing Molly into a quiet room in his mind palace. He has no doubt she is in good hands with John Watson and the Rock City Rollers need a coach with his mind on the track.

As the minutes tick away, Rock City punishes the Demons with points scored and hard hits. The match-ups between these two teams are always ruthless, but the anger bubbling up within every one of the ladies after the loss of their captain makes this bout look like one from the 1960s and 1970s when rules were not clearly defined and sometimes not even observed. Rock City treads the line between legal and not for the remainder of the second half. Only two penalties are served by either team, but a lot of bruises are doled out.

When the whistle blows, Rock City wins by a crushing 160 to 101. A hoot that starts the crowd cheering bursts from HardOn’s lips. The Demons skate off the track to their bench as all of the ladies meet on the track, hugging and raising fists in the air. Sherlock joins in the celebration and they all cheer for their coach. As he turns in a circle within the center of the team, Moriarty catches his eye to give him a mock salute. Sherlock ignores him and returns his attention to Rock City. He calls them all together, leading them in the team chant.

“Ladies! One, two, three…”

“D R C Woo!” the entire stadium screams in victory and the sound is deafening. Sherlock smiles to himself, knowing Molly can hear it from the locker room and knows her teammates carried the day. However, the smile fades when he catches another glimpse of Moriarty stepping onto the track. Sherlock furrows his brow and does his duty, although he hates extending any pleasantries to the Demons.

“Ladies, line up!” his deep baritone booms into the crowd of skaters. Somehow they all hear him over noise and ready themselves to shake hands with the other team. The two coaches linger at the end of the lines until they finally meet.

“Pleasure to beat you, Jim,” Sherlock smirks.

“You forget, we meet again, Sherlock,” he growls. “And we will crush you.”

He pulls Sherlock’s hand where they are cordially shaking them and draws close, looking straight into his grey eyes.

“I will burn the heart out of you,” he whispers urgently, deadly.

Sherlock pulls away and puts some space in between himself and the shorter man. He meets the intense dark brown eyes with his own frown, brows furrowed and continues to watch Moriarty as they both follow their teams to the locker rooms. Once all of the ladies are safely away, Sherlock makes his way through the skaters as they whoop and congratulate one another. Harry grabs him around the waist and lifts him off his feet, in spite of her shorter stature.

“Harry! For god sake, put me down!” he squirms.

“Not on your life!” she cries and the whole room cheers. “It’s your own fault for being such a lanky bastard! You make it too easy.”

Harry swings him around, his feet sometimes barely clearing benches and lockers. She loudly declares him the best coach in the whole derby racket. Everyone cheers and laughs and she finally puts him down. It is a gross exaggeration, of course, but he can appreciate the sentiment.

Back on his feet, Sherlock jumps up onto one of the benches to congratulate the team and spur them on for the rest of the season. As he speaks, the energy in the room rises in spite of the fatigue a bout creates. He looks out into the sea of faces and sees determination and strength, dedication and spirit, and he knows they can take this all the way to the championships.

“This is what a team is,” he tells them. “It is trust and camaraderie, depending on a teammate as much as she depends on you. We can do this. And this is the best, the perfect way to start the season. You all exemplify the dedication and passion of champions. This team, every one of you, never ceases to amaze me. Well done.”

Cheers and shouts of hooray fill the room.

“We are gonna take the whole goddamn championship!” Hella yells above the din and makes it louder.

Harry reaches for him again, but Sherlock ducks away and is only skimmed by her fingertips. He weaves his way through the ladies again and finally reaches the door that leads to the medic room, but he finds it empty. Frowning, Sherlock pulls his phone from the pocket of his suit coat and dials John’s number. It rings and rings. The sound of the door opening behind catches his attention as his call goes to voicemail. Sherlock turns to see Greg standing before him with a grave expression on his face.

“Greg?” he says, slowly lowering the phone from his ear. “Something’s happened.”

“It’s Molly,” he answers.

“Tell me,” Sherlock straightens his spine, every muscle hard as steel.

“Sherlock…” he pauses and shakes his head. “She passed out and stopped breathing.”

“What?” Sherlock’s eyes fill with disbelief and shock.

“It all happened so fast. We called an ambulance from Ford. John went with her.”

***

Sherlock is out of the elevator as soon as the doors open. He walks briskly down the third floor hall of Ford Hospital. His penetrating grey eyes stare straight ahead at the nurse’s station. He had entered the hospital through the ER and was told Miss Hooper and her doctor were on the third floor in the east wing. She had been admitted, obviously, but they would not give him her room number and said he had to check in at the nurse’s station on the floor. Irritated by unwilling to waste time arguing, Sherlock made for the east wing. It is not the wing injured skaters typically stay in, being for far more serious cases and that has Sherlock scared. There is no other word for it and his mind is racing with the possibilities.

Sherlock’s black dress shoes click angrily as he strides through the hall. A nurse at the station watches him with interest as he approaches.

“Can I help you?” she asks skeptically when he stops before her.

“Yes, I need the room number for Molly Hooper,” he answers sharply. “She was injured at the roller derby and I am her coach.”

“Ah, yes,” she says in a friendlier tone. “We were told to expect you. The doctor wants to speak with you before you see her.”

“Her doctor is with her,” Sherlock replies with an edge to his tone.

“Mm-hm,” the woman hums dismissively, shuffling papers on the desk. Sherlock is about to argue his point when a short, rotund man hurries toward him with his arms extended.

“Sherlock,” he says in an urgent voice that is laced with worry, “Greg said you were on your way.”

“Mike,” the coach’s entire demeanor changes. He breathes a sigh of relief and lets the man’s presence take the edge off the tension. “I didn’t think you would be here this late.”

“Shouldn’t be, but I have a case right now that’s got me here 24/7. I’m glad my wife is in New Jersey helping her sister move. She’d have my head,” he grins, but it does not reach his eyes and the strain around them does not lessen. Sherlock studies his friend as he explains the night’s events, observing all the signs of stress and fatigue. Dark circles under the eyes, bloodshot sclera, a pale pallor to constantly pink cheeks.

“But John knows I always look after the ladies when they’re here. Good man. Had lunch with him earlier this week, in fact,” Mike wipes a hand across his forehead. “I would’ve come in for this regardless.”

“Come in for what? What is going on?” Sherlock freezes, every muscle tightening again. His brain seizes and grows cold in an instant. Mike cannot mean that the way it sounds. He absolutely can not.

“No, no, no!” Mike sees the change in Sherlock immediately and puts his hands on the taller man’s shoulders. “She’s okay. She’s going to be fine. John kept her breathing at the stadium and on the way here. We stabilized her after they arrived.”

Sherlock shakes his head in disbelief and confusion. Greg had said Molly was not breathing, but it doesn’t make any sense. Even a concussion would not do that, unless brain damage occurs and that is very unlikely. Sherlock tries to sift through all possible scenarios as Mike speaks, stopping only when he hears Mike say…

“...never would have known the cause if he hadn’t wanted that blood test and when it came back positive for…”

“Doctor Stamford,” a nurse says suddenly. They both see her grim expression and Mike turns to Sherlock again, face heavy with worry.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I have to go,” he and the nurse hurry away, but he looks back before turning the corner. “345. John will fill you in . Sorry.”

And he is gone. Sherlock blinks, staring after him, fury boiling in his blood. What. The fuck. Is John Watson thinking. Ordering a blood test? And for what, exactly? Suspecting Molly would use drugs to enhance her performance, or for any other reason, is reprehensible. The idea that any of the ladies would do it, or that Sherlock would be stupid enough not notice instantly and deal with it is absurd and incredibly insulting, but suspecting Molly is beyond comprehension. Surely John knows that by now.

Sherlock sees red as he marches through the hall, every fiber of his being aflame as he follows the numbers to 345. He nearly kicks the door open when he arrives and bursts in, fury burning the blood that pulses through his veins.

Molly sleeps peacefully in the bed, tubing on all sides and resting under her nose. John jumps up from his seat at the side of the bed at Sherlock’s dramatic entrance. He steps forward, but stops after getting a good look at the coach’s face. Seeing the fury plain on his features, the doctor frowns and squares his shoulders to the taller man’s.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sherlock booms. “You have no call to suspect Molly of drug use! Have you learned nothing? You have been here over a month and this is what you assume? If this is what you think of her…”

“What? No, Sherlock, that’s not…”

“Stay the fuck away from my team.”

“...why I wanted the blood test.”

“I will kick your ass if you ever try to set foot in the stadium again.”

“I was looking for arsenicosis.”

Sherlock, who had been rapidly advancing on John, now stands directly in front of him, looming down at him. He grabs him by the lapels, lifting him slightly and forcing him to his toes. The taller man leans forward, their noses mere inches apart. Sherlock blinks, his grey eyes furious and gleaming. He stares John down as he tries to process the words. His head is spinning and he tries to concentrate. Arsenicosis. It doesn’t make any sense.

He blinks again and furrows his brow. To his credit, John does not look frightened or even angry. There is, however, great concern in those stormy, deep blue eyes.

“Arsenic poisoning.”

“I know what it is!” Sherlock snaps. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Then you know how quickly it works,” John replies, paying no mind to the coach’s behavior or their relative positions. Sherlock’s eyes are on John, but they are distant as if seeing something else entirely as the doctor continues. “She exhibited symptoms within fifteen minutes of coming off the track, cardiac arrest at twenty. A bit faster than usual, given that her heart rate was up. It was introduced right into her bloodstream. Had to be.”

“Her bloodstream?” Sherlock’s eyes focus again and the crease in his brow deepens. His hands release John’s collar and he shuffles back to put a little space between them, rolling John’s words in his mind. “Have you found puncture marks?”

“Not yet, but it’s there somewhere and I’ll find it,” John tells him firmly.

“What made you suspect arsenic?” Sherlock cannot stop himself from asking. He is incredibly intrigued, in spite of the gravity of the situation. He does not simply want to know what happened to Molly, but also how the doctor arrived to that conclusion. One could easily mistake and dismiss the symptoms for the results of physical exertion only. Redness of the skin, and tingling fingers and toes would have seemed like adrenaline left over from the collision and nosebleed. It might even produce nausea and muscle cramps. But even once Molly had gone into cardiac arrest, what would make John even consider arsenic?

“Molly’s a very healthy woman. I thought it was all part of the adrenaline, slamming into people and the like, but when she stopped breathing,” John shakes his head. “I started CPR and thought over everything that happened from track to arrest. Given the reaction and the time frame, all the signs were there. It had to be arsenic.”

Sherlock is not sure what to say. The woman who is like a sister to him, his best friend, his whole life, came as close to death as he has ever seen. His soft eyes have not left John’s face and are filled with more emotion than Sherlock could ever express in a lifetime. John seems to understand and acknowledges it silently with a slow nod.

“I had them test for other poisons too,” he says gently. “Just in case.”

“But you knew you wouldn’t be wrong,” Sherlock responds in a low tone. John nods once.

“And it was introduced on the track,” John states matter of factly. “Or just after she came off.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He studies John. Studies him so thoroughly that he can hide nothing. Deduces. Why would poisoning even be on the table? Another second and the deduction hits. Sherlock’s eyes go wide and his face slackens. His mouth drops open in disbelief.

“She told you,” he whispers, his eyes falling shut.

“Damn right she did,” John replies in a tone so certain he could be heading into battle. Sherlock’s eyes snap open again to see John standing tall, shoulders back, meeting Sherlock’s gaze with sharp eyes. He looks every bit a doctor ready to give orders and save the day. “She was concerned, but she wouldn’t have imagined this in her wildest dreams.”

Sherlock sighs sadly and lowers his eyes to the woman sleeping peacefully beside them. Stepping away from John and closer to the bed, he takes Molly’s hand in his and holds it as he would the most delicate thing on the planet. He tilts his head and takes in every feature of her face, the paleness of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. He brushes a lock of hair from her forehead gently.

“She told me of her suspicions,” he begins in a hushed voice. “I thought the ladies she mentioned had been careless. They aren’t the most careful of the bunch.” He sighs. ”It had only happened two or three times at that point. I dismissed it, but then it happened twice more. I just didn’t have enough data and told her as much.”

“She mentioned that,” the doctor nods.

“John,” Sherlock’s eyes are suddenly filled with desperation, “I’m not in the locker rooms when they’re getting ready for a bout. I come in to talk and lead them out once skates are on. I don’t monitor equipment. I leave it to them as part of their jobs. I was only just beginning to get more of that information from Molly. She was my eyes and ears.”

His eyes fall to her countenance once more, glistening with tears. John’s expression softens and he moves closer to the bed, to the coach.

“Sherlock, I’m not trying to blame you and you shouldn’t blame yourself either,” he tells the man firmly. “Molly certainly won’t. You listened. You were trying. The two of you were working together.”

Sherlock looks up and gazes at him for a long time. It feels like forever. But he finally lifts his chin and swallows hard, his eyes full of determination instead of sadness and worry.

“She is going to be okay.”

It is not a question and yet, something in Sherlock’s face is asking. John lets his shoulders ease, the corners of his mouth curling the slightest bit.

“Yes, we caught it in time,” he says solemnly. “She won’t wake until tomorrow night and she’ll need to stay here for a week or two, maybe more. It depends on her recovery. She will not be skating. It’s quite a shock to the system.”

Sherlock remains silent and nods. A tear slips from his eye when he blinks and trickles slowly down his cheek. He bends down and presses his lips to Molly’s forehead, uttering ‘I’m sorry’ in a deep voice that is not even a whisper.

“Sherlock,” John touches his shoulder and those all-seeing grey eyes meet his own, “she’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispers, another tear gliding down his pale skin. John shifts and removes his hand.

“I’ll give you two a minute.”

Sherlock’s lips turn up in a small smile as he thanks John again.

***

Nearly two hours later, John sits at a small table in the cafeteria. Reading a book on his phone, he pays no mind to any of the people walking around him until a tall figure steps right up to the opposite chair and stops. John raises his gaze to see Sherlock Holmes. He straightens in his seat and greets his colleague, gesturing to the other chair.

“Thank you,” Sherlock says again as he sits and pushes a coffee cup toward John, holding his own in the other hand. “Milk, no sugar.”

“Thanks,” John looks at him in surprise. ”How did you…”

“John,” he interrupts with an almost pitying look, “surely you know the answer to that question.”

“Right,” John watches him take a sip from his own cup. Sherlock’s eyes are a bit red, but not too puffy. No one would even notice if they hadn’t seen him in Molly’s room. John leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You okay?”

“Yes. Better.”

John waits. Sherlock returns his gaze, but remains unreadable. John wishes he had the man’s power of observation. Sure, he does all right. He learned how to watch and see things others would not, but not the way Sherlock does. What the man does is uncanny. God, John would love to know how Sherlock really feels about all of this. Maybe then he could approach this next subject with more confidence. John is hesitant to admit that he was already helping Molly and had taken her advice in visiting the team’s former physician, but it is information that Sherlock needs to know to have the full picture. He can only hope the coach does not take it as an intrusion.

“Shortly after I started here, Molly suggested I speak to a William Wiggins,” John says carefully.

“Billy?” Sherlock asks evenly. Only a slight widening of his eyes betrays his surprise. “And did you?”

“A few weeks ago, yeah.”

“How is he? I haven’t seen him for some time. But that is by design, of course,” Sherlock mutters wryly.

“Good,” John’s voice rises in tone as he studies Sherlock. Will he see his obvious exclusion as a slight? John spent a great deal of time after his visit with Billy wondering if Sherlock could be the ally Billy suggested. John wets his lower lip and then bites it. “He confirmed Molly’s suspicions.”

The coach raises a brow, the coffee cup hiding his mouth.

“Well, only in the sense that he agrees someone was trying to sabotage the team,” he corrects and pauses. Anticipating Sherlock’s questions, he adds, “and still is. He didn’t have real proof, no.”

Sherlock places the cup on the table and remains silent. He wears a different expression though. The look in his eye, it’s… He almost looks impressed. The corners of John’s lips quirk up into a smile that he quickly tamps down because humor has no place in what he is about to say.

“He also confirmed that he was poisoned.”

Sherlock’s eyes go very wide this time. John leans forward more and licks his lips again as he continues quietly.

“You knew.”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t think you do.”

“He wanted to keep it a secret so I let him think he was.”

“Molly knows too.”

“Obvious.”

John’s mouth twists in annoyance and he juts his chin out a bit as he turns his head abruptly, looking away from the snarky coach. Sherlock presses his lips together in a thin line and lets out a long, slow sigh. He leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his curls. They fall over his forehead artfully once free from his fingers. He glances away and then back at John contritely, a silent apology.

“I should have told Molly I knew. I’ve never kept anything from her before,” he leans forward, elbows on the table. “I couldn’t find any useful information from the alleged accidents before Billy left and then there weren’t anymore. Two months left in the season and not a single mishap.”

“Like someone knew you were onto them.”

“Or wanted me to believe Billy was responsible,” Sherlock snears.

“Was Anderson hired before or after the season ended?”

“Just after. Greg asked Mike to stand in for the remainder of the season. We have a month-long break after and start in again on an easier schedule for another month or so.”

“And nothing happened while Anderson was here?”

“No,” Sherlock scowls. “Nothing he didn’t do himself.”

“And now this on the first bout of the season,” John thinks aloud. “My first bout.”

They stare at one another without blinking. Sherlock breaks into a grin, his grey eyes sparkling and John sees green flecks scattered in the irises. He has never noticed them before, probably because he never paid much attention. Why is he now? They are beautiful. In fact, Sherlock’s eyes are absolutely stunning.

“Someone doesn’t like Mrs. Hudson’s choice of doctors.”

“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, right,” John puts more weight on his forearms leaning further forward. “Since I spoke with Billy, I’ve been trying to learn more about everything that’s happened, picking Molly’s brain for facts. I’ve read all of Billy’s notes and asked questions of the ladies who were injured. I’ve watched practices for anything suspicious, and footage of bouts where skaters were injured.”

“Practices?” Sherlock interrupts him, narrowing his eyes. The sparkle instantly replaced with dark clouds of simmering anger. “Are you saying you suspect one of the ladies?”

“No, not at all,” John answers truthfully. “I wanted to be there if something happened or someone who shouldn’t be around was.”

“I did much the same after Billy left,” Sherlock confesses as the clouds fade away. “I watched every bout as closely as I could and scrutinized stadium staff. Uh, don’t mention that to Greg. It might have involved breaking into his office.”

“You didn’t,” John smiles mischievously. When Sherlock merely shrugs, a puff of laughter bursts from John’s lips. He continues to laugh quietly and the coach soon joins him. “Billy was right. You’ll face the devil himself for the ladies.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Sherlock laughs.

“Yeah, it is,” John grins and is suddenly more serious, “but it isn’t.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock’s eyes fall to his own arms, which are crossed on the table in front of him. A certain sadness has returned to his features. John reaches for the man’s hand and covers it with his own. Sherlock’s head rises quickly at the touch.

“You couldn’t have known Molly would be a target,” John tells him solemnly. “There was no reason to think anyone would be poisoned again.”

“I know, John,” he smiles sadly, “but that doesn’t make it easier.”

John nods and drops his gaze to their hands. He tilts his head to the left as he begins to realize how easily his fits over Sherlock’s, in spite of the different sizes. They fit so well together. The coach’s skin is soft and warm. It feels alive and welcoming under John’s fingers.

“I will find out who did this,” Sherlock says suddenly, deadly serious.

The doctor nods once.

“We’ll do it together.”

---

Holy shit, Jane! What’s going to happen next?? At least both of them are on the case now, am I right? Tune in next weekend. Same bat time. Same bat channel.

@zentris @toooldforthissh-stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @thetranslucentwallaby @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow

Sorry, youknowyougrow! I forgot to add you to the list, but you are on now. A thousand apologies and welcome!

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #Johnlock fanfic #johnlock #sherlock roller derby #sherlock au

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chaaliapinz · 4 years

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Taking a cue from the good six blogs on this site,

rb this with actors of color you’d like to see play Mary/maideservant/opera singer, Sonya, and Pierre in the Great Comet cause those roles in both Comet bway and Comet Brazil are overwhelmingly white

For me

Mary: Kuhoo Verma, Andrea Macasaet

Sonya: Jai’len Josey, Nora Schell, Jordin Sparks, Nikki M, James, TV Carpio, Khaila Wilcoxon, Nabiyah Be, Maiya Quansah-Breed, Rachelle Ann Go

either: Imari Hardon, Anna Uzele, Maimuna Memon

Pierre: Kelvin Moon Loh, Tamar Greene, Jon Jon Briones

#the one thing abt kelvin pierre is we'd have to find a TINY natasha to make Pierre look Big #but we don't have to tbh #actingwise itd be interesting to see larry owens george salazar or fergie phillippe playPierre but idk if they have the Vocal Chops #Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 #great comet #gr8 comet

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ifyoucouldholdme · 5 years

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Movie Nights with Trashmouth

Chapter 1

Words: 1376

Pairing: Bichie

Rating: Explicit

Read on AO3

Bill couldn’t believe his eyes as Richie led him through the maze of DVDs. The whole scenario was oddly an experience out of time. His friend had dragged him halfway across town to a still running video rental store, probably the last of its kind as far as Derry was concerned. “You gotta see this place!” Richie had crowed, “They’ve got movies you can’t find anywhere else.”

The shelves upon shelves proved him right. Bill wanted to carefully scan through each title, making a mental list of which to rent first. He passed period dramas, sci-fi epics, films from around the globe. “R-Richie, w-wait up. I’d l-like to actually look at s-some of these,” he whined. Richie kept pulling him forward.

“You can see those later, Big Bill,” he chided, “I’ve got something that’ll give you a raging cinema boner. Hell, it’ll probably give you a real boner.”

“C-can you p-p-please stop t-talking about m-my dick?!” Bill sputtered.

“Whatever blows your skirt up, sweetheart. Just be glad you didn’t wear gym shorts today.” He sent a salacious wink, sending such a heart burning through Bill’s gut that he was indeed relieved he wore his rigid jeans instead of his flimsy shorts after all. If only Richie knew that his jokes were a bit too accurate. Bill pined as he watched the goofball’s dangling curls bounce as he skipped through the store. Ok, maybe he was also entranced by the bounce of Richie’s perfectly rounded bubble butt too.

Before they rounded the next corner, he suddenly turned and shoved his hand against Bill’s chest to stop him. “Alright, BIlliam,” he whispered into the now blushing boy’s ear. The warmth of Richie’s bony palm spread through his chest and mixed with the chills from the trashmouth’s breath dancing across his ear sent Bill into a paralyzed stupor. Yes, Richie was a touchy-feely person, but this felt different. This felt intimate and intentional. This awkward, brash, and gangly boy that haunted his nighttime fantasies was now mere inches from his wide-eyed face. Bill instinctively leaned forward, gradually closing the gap between—

“Around this corner is the most beautiful sight you’ll ever see, aside from my precious dimpled smile, of course. Like, for real Bill, you’re gonna cream your jeans. I know I sure as hell did the first time I saw it.”

“B-b-beep, R-r-r-r—” the poor frazzled boy tried, but Richie had already disappeared into the next room. The mere thought of his friend climaxing looped through his head taunting him as Bill tried in vain to cover his now full-blown erection and hobbled through the archway.

His shame was forgotten, however, when he laid eyes on the room before him. Each wall was lined in hundreds of bizarre and terrifying titles and box art. He recognized classics of horror like the Exorcist as well as some just plain weird movies, Meet the Feebles being one he was embarrassed to admit he somewhat enjoyed. Some shelves were alphabetized, others were categorized by director or subgenre. Stylized posters plastered the remaining spaces just beneath the ceiling, their artistry mesmerizing him. Above it all shone a neon marquee that simply read, “Cult Corner.”

“Welcome to paradise, Billy-Boy!” Richie beamed with arms raised in a grand gesture.

“Holy s-s-shit!” Bill proclaimed a bit louder than intended. “They’ve g-got everything.”

“Right?” With that, he eagerly led Bill around the room in his worst tour guide impersonation. “Thank you for choosing Tozier Tours Unlimited. We’re glad to have you aboard this afternoon. If you look out the window to your left, you’ll find the world’s larges collection of the spinetingling, the hair raising, and the grotesquely gory. But please, ladies and gentlemen, keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. There’s lots more to see.”

Bill chuckled despite himself. As often as he wanted to strangle the brash jokester for taking a laugh one step too far, he no less than adored Richie. Underneath that layer of jovial frivolity was a sweet boy just as lonely and as unsure as he was. If he ever needed a true friend or someone to listen to his uncertainties, Richie always did whatever necessary to help him, albeit with a few chucks thrown in to keep the mood from turning too sour. It also didn’t hurt that Richie’s smile did in fact give him the most adorable dimples.

Thankfully he didn’t notice Bill’s infatuated stares as he continued. “To your right you will see the weird, the bizarre, the flat-out what-the-fuckery of the aisle of cult movies. We got your Rocky Horror, your Pink Flamingoes. You want blood, guts, quips, and tits? There’s a little something here for everyone!” he crooned gradually sounding more and more like a carnival barker.

Bill felt lightheaded, overwhelmed by such a collection to choose from. “I d-don’t even know w-where to start.”

“Well then, monsieur Denbrough,” Richie switched again, this time to what he called his Frenchie Dressing voice, “allow moi to direct vous to la piece du resistance.”

“Alright, M-Marcel, c-chill. You only w-went to Q-Quebec for a w-weekend,” he teased, but the smirk flew off his face wen Richie bent over, sticking his glorious ass in the air as if presenting it for Bill’s approval. Bill absentmindedly reached out a hand, just to ‘accidentally’ brush the enthralling derriere, then, remembering his tightening pants, snapped his hand back to cover himself. Once again, Richie seemed not to notice. He was more concerned with the DVD cases he thrust towards Bill. The shaking redheaded boy blankly gazed at the covers, glad for any distraction from his embarrassing issue. At first, he was confused. The boxes were adorned with several men and women in unusual poses.

“These,” Richie whispered in a curiously huskier tone, his face instantly as close to Bill’s as before, “are for extra special movie nights.” The pieces finally fell together in Bill’s mind.

“This is p-p-p-p—”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘porn’, Big Bill,” Richie winked. Crimson flooded over Bill’s cheeks. This pushed his tension over the edge, and he sputtered and shivered with embarrassment. The frenzy subsided a touch as Richie placed a reassuring grip on his shoulder. “Whoa there, Sister Mary Agnes. I’m putting them back. Nothing to get all antsy about, it’s just some dicks and tits. We’ve all got ‘em.” Bill, slightly calmer, quirked a teasing eyebrow at him. “Well, we’ve all got one or the other.” They gazed at each other for a moment, filled with some unspoken thing felt between them. Then they each burst into a hearty laugh.

“Alright, alright,” Richie gasped, “Go ahead and pick a couple out for a date night. It’s on me.” Bill dropped the cases, letting them clatter against his Converse sneakers. He stared, frozen in place, at Richie who also seemed to notice his choice of words and avoided eye contact himself.

“D-d-d-date n-night?” Bill managed through a clenched throat.

Richie brought a hand to his neck, trying to hide a rosy patch his had sprouted on his cheek. “I mean, yeah, I guess,” he said, voice uncharacteristically wavering. “We totally don’t have to. It’s weird. We can’t just get our own movies. Your taste in horror is more on the classy side anyway, you wouldn’t like any of my—”

Bill socked his arm, leaving a nice red mark which would eventually bruise later that day. “B-beep beep, d-d-dumbass.” He then worked his fingers through Richie’s, noticing the other boy’s nervous sweating palm and his own racing pulse. He swallowed his anxiety and excitement as Richie tightened his grip. “D-date night sounds f-f-fun.”

“Well,” Richie stalled, trying to will away red face. Bill could’ve sworn that his bottle thick glasses began to steam over. “Let’s pick out some flicks then. Say, two apiece?”

“S-sounds like a plan.” Bill smiled, lost in Richie’s warmth and the surprising sweetness of the moment. “R-Rich?”

“Yeah, Big Bill?”

“How d-did you even know I’d b-b-be—”

“Well, you’ve been staring at my ass like it’s a buffet, plus I’ve been able to see your hardon since we walked in, so I figured I had at least a fifty-fifty shot.” Bill punched Richie even harder a second time. Trashmouth just cackled in return.

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marie-hardon · 2 months

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Do you also have Telegram?

#mariehardon #telegram #messenger #follow me

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pamphletstoinspire · 5 years

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Taming the Tongue: 10 Fatal Abuses of Speech

Saint James warns us that we should be slow to speak and quick to listen. The Imitation of Christ asserts that few have ever regretted refraining from speaking. On the other hand, many regret having opened their mouths when they should have kept them shut. Still more, Jesus warns us that every word that comes forth from our mouth we will be judged; and Jesus says: “From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”

Finally, St. Bonaventure asserts that we should open our mouths in three occasions: to praise God, to accuse ourselves and finally, to edify others. Hopefully this will be our criteria for speaking! The primary purpose for this gift of speech that God has given to the human person is to communicate the truth with love.

We would then like to briefly go over the ten fatal flaws that result from improper speech. In each instance, our goal is to find the preventive medicine rather than curative. The reason being is that once a word has been issued forth from the mouth, it cannot be retrieved. Much like when a rock is launched in the direction of a window pane, it cannot be returned to the hand but it instead goes out and shatters the glass in nearly an instant. So when it comes to taming the tongue, it is far better to prevent the stones of our words then to try to repair the damage.

1. Lying

Lies should be avoided at all costs. A lie perverts the proper end and purpose of human speech, by falsifying the truth that ought to be spoken. If all were to lie then human solidarity and unity would be impossible because nobody could trust anybody’s word and we would then always be living with the suspicion that the other who speaks is deceiving. Jesus said that the devil is the father of lies. Therefore, in a very real sense liars are sons and daughter of the devil! A strong statement, but true.

2. Telling White Lies

Many will justify the lie by saying that it is only a white lie, an inoffensive lie, that nobody will be hurt, or even that the white lie was said to avoid doing harm to the other person. There was a moment when Charlie Brown told Lucy that what he told was only a white lie. Lucy responded: “Charlie, I did not know that lies come in colors.” In sum, your speech should always communicate the truth in the big as well as in the small things. Jesus reminds us that those who are faithful in the small will be faithful in the large.

3. Shouting and Yelling

Frustrated people who have little self-control often have recourse to yelling or shouting, with the hope of moving the listeners to action; this might also be the case of parents with their children. The end is to get those subject to the shouting to submit in obedience, which rarely results as planned. On the contrary, people will pay even less attention to the overly-emotional and uncontrolled shouting. Rather than losing control of our emotions, it is far better to give fraternal correction but with calmness and peace. In this way you show love, even while giving parental or fraternal correction, while also maintaining control over your tongue.

4. Slander or Calumny

At all costs, we should strive to maintain and defend not only our own good reputation but also the reputation of others. All have a right to the defense of their good name. But how quickly somebody’s good name can be undone by the slander of another! Therefore, calumny or slander can be defined as “character assassination”—that is to say, killing the good name of another.

Actually, in this light, slander not only violates The Eight Commandment—”Thou shall not bear false witness against his neighbor”—but it can also be seen as a violation of The Fifth Commandment: “Thou shalt not kill.” Even The Book of Proverbs tells us the harm that is done by slander or calumny: “A man who bears false witness against his neighbor is like a war club, or a sword, or a sharp arrow.”

5. Speaking Gossip

All too prevalent in our modern society are those who have become the gossiper. Such a person always finds the negative act and motivations in the other person and then speaks about that behind their back.

Gossipers cause damage in many ways:

a) They hurt God, the source of truth who hears all things. b) They hurt themselves by sinning by their speech. c) They hurt the persons listening to their gossip. d) Finally, and most obviously, they hurt the person against whom they are gossiping.

If you are a gossiper, or you even listen to gossip, stop right now! The Holy Bible is clear about avoiding this: “Do not spread slanderous gossip among your people,” (Leviticus 19:16). Remember, Jesus says that every careless word that comes from your mouth you will be judged. Be prepared for judgment day!

6. Sarcasm in Speech

Sarcasm is using irony and mockery to show contempt. Utilizing sarcasm wounds charity; it is like adding salt to the opened wound. It hurts, burns and smarts! The sarcastic person belittles, disparages and pokes fun at others, gets the listeners to laugh and degrades others and their innate dignity.

Before giving in to sarcasm, apply the Golden Rule. How would you like it if you were to be the butt of a sarcastic joke? Do to others what you want them to do to you. So speak to other and about them as you would like to spoken to and about.

7. Breaking Confidence

If what you have heard is meant to be kept in confidence, not revealed, or to be kept secret, then it’s best to keep your mouth shut and sealed.

Priests must maintain the seal of the confessional. Professionals are obliged to maintain confidence in many cases. In this case, the common proverb, silence is golden, is indeed is very true. Therefore, in taming the tongue to prevent this fatal flaw, we sometimes we are obliged to simply remain silent. In this, we have a very eloquent silence indeed!

8. Blasphemy

Of the utmost serious flaw of the tongue is that of blasphemy. What then is blasphemy? In Father John Hardon’s Pocket Catholic Dictionary we read:

“BLASPHEMY: Speaking against God in a contemptuous, scornful, or abusive manner. Included under blasphemy are offenses committed by thought, word or action, serious contemptuous ridicule of the saints, sacred objects, or of persons consecrated to God is also blasphemous because God is indirectly attacked. Blasphemy is a grave violation of charity against God. Its gravity may be judged by capital punishment in the Old Testament, severe penalties in the Church, and in many cases also of the State.”

A concrete and recent example of this was the abuse and the desecration of a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary by pouring fake blood over the statue on Christmas Eve in Oklahoma. Through this act, the Church was mocked and Our Lord’s mother was attacked. May God have mercy on us!

9. Abusive and Vulgar Language

While not as serious as blasphemy, a great abuse of the tongue is the all-too prevalent proliferation of vulgar language. Often words are used to degrade the human person as well as the intimate act that God has designed for the procreation of new human beings. This is wrong and should be brought to a screeching halt for those who are in the habit of using such ugly and indecent language.

We should never forget that we are temples of the Holy Spirit. As Catholics, our tongues partake of the Body and Blood of Jesus whenever we receive Holy Communion. As part of our preparation for Holy Communion we should tame the tongue to be ready to receive such a great gift.

We should act according to the dignity of who we are—Temples of the Living God. We ought to also act according to our dignity as future citizens of Heaven, our eternal home with God!

10. Bragging and Boasting

Another form of speech that we should eschew is that of bragging or boasting.

What is this form of speech? It is when we are praising and placing ourselves above all, lauding and adulating our own supposed greatness. In this we attribute all of our successes, merits, and rewards to our own greatness. This is very displeasing to God because it is the epitome of pride!

God lifts up the lowly, but despises the proud of heart. Our Lady in her Magnificat expresses this truth:

“For he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness…

He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly.”

Our attitude of heart should be that of the Psalmist: Not to us, LORD, not to us but to your name give glory.

FR. ED BROOM, OMV

From: https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/

#taming the tongue

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