#who holds the authority to be the judge of that. can any of us truly be forgiven..?''

[carlyraejepsans]

i will never forgive popular UT fanon for using chara as a scapegoat in the genocide run and making "sans recognizes them and attacks them on sight regardless of what run they're in" headcanons so pervasive.

mostly because "restless spirit of a long dead child who's obsessed with the concept of cosmic retribution and facing consequences for your actions" + "guy whose job is just that but he treats it on par with his hot dog sidegig" is potentially one of the most hysterical dynamics you could come up with

UPDATE: you should REALLY check out the notes on this one

[j0kers-light]

Joker, but with a virgin reader who barely understands sex stuff cuz they grew up overly sheltered and innocent, so he essentially has to teach them through it and introduce some kinky stuff to them

His Lighthouse: Sweet Girl (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Sweet Girl - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

Author’s note:  

Hey hi anon!! I am so sorry it took me an entire week to fill this request! I got carried away and went down a perfectionist spiral trying to envision Joker in this situation. It was difficult to keep him in character but still caring enough for Y/n who is virtually clueless! I hope you enjoy the story!

You can find part two here!!

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher

Let me know if you want to be added to the His Lighthouse taglist!    

You are truly his sweet girl in every definition of the word. 

Joker's sweet little doll he so desperately wants to defile. He greatly admires your innocence and the way you view the world. Joker wants nothing more than to continue sheltering you, but he's at his wit's end holding back his passion.

Everyday his patience wanes and it's only a matter of time before he pounces on his prey. You.

He wants to sink his teeth into your skin and hear you cry out in pleasure with every snap of his hips. He wants to see your brain turn off from an overload of pleasure. It's not a want anymore but a need. He needs to break you.

He can't wait anymore and judging by your coy smiles and teasing touches, he knows you want this too.

Although Joker should've known something was wrong since things between you and him never advanced any further than kissing. You would shy away the minute he grabbed your hips or tried to remove any article of clothing from you.

He should have noticed the telltale signs.

Months of hiding at your place in your pink little bubble, far far away from mean old Gotham City, and all that Joker had to show for as process with you was cuddling or making out.

Nothing more, nothing less. It was frustrating for sure.

Joker knew you were attracted to him; he saw it in the way your eyes widened and lingered on him.

You would bite your lip whenever he purposefully let his shirt ride up or whenever he picked you up to show off his strength. He even came out of the shower dripping wet without a towel once— you tucked tail and ran to your room.

Joker was using every trick in the book to get a reaction from you, however; you stayed demure and kept your hands to yourself. It was maddening!

Even at night when the two of you were preparing for bed, (separately, much to his irritation) he'd pull you close and rock his hips into yours.

"Wanna sleep with meee tonight, baby doll?" You would flush red and wiggle out of his arms before stampering out a million no's and vanish from sight.

Joker hated hearing your door slam close but what could he do? He was running out of options.

There were so many clues in front of him regarding this dilemma but the truth finally came to light one day he had you trapped underneath him on the bed.

No more running. No more excuses. He was claiming you tonight.

He was attacking your neck with kisses and actively grinding his hard on into your pretty shorts. The skimpy things you wore around the house tested his limited sanity! Were you trying to seduce him? Bravo, because you succeeded. And he was supposed to be impervious to your charms and be a gentleman. Screw that.

Your body was a prize to be had and Joker waited long enough to have it.

He had the helm of your shirt balled up to your abdomen when you froze. "W-Wait um Joker. I-I.."

"Shhhh little bunny.. I just wanna see ya."

You didn't like that and tried pushing Joker up and off. How did he get you on the bed in the first place you wondered?

Joker noticed your aversion to his touch and growled in annoyance. Every freaking time he tried to get closer with you; you pushed him away. He had enough. He no longer had any patience to deal with this anymore.

"What's the deal, hmm? You don't li-ke me anymore?"

Your eyes immediately locked with his. "N-No! I like you.. it's just..." You wavered.

"Just whaT? Hmm? Tell me bunny! Open that pretty... little mouth of yours and tell me."

You did the exact opposite. You bit your lip and looked away from Joker. Your selective shyness was rather annoying at this point and Joker let his frustrations be known.

"You're such a cocktease ya know that? Runnin' around in these shorts and things making those little... noises when ya think I don't notice. Yeah, I hear em doll. You're killing me but the second I touch ya, this happens!" Joker gestured at you cowering away from him.

"What are ya, some virgin or something?" He sighed to himself. But then he looked down at you in shock when he heard your soft yes.

Oh. He was a f___king idiot.

You were holding back tears and the second Joker realized his mistake and touched your arm, they burst to the surface.

"Ohhh.. Bunny noo. Look at me." You did and shined your e/c at him. "There she is.. my sweet girl. Why didn't you tell me?"

He lied back on the bed and dragged you with him to recline on his chest. You were perfectly fine cuddling with J. Anything else after that was scary.

He couldn't see your face since it was buried in his shirt so you answered him truthfully.

"I.. I thought you knew.." You mumbled. Joker smacked his lips and started stroking your hair. You left it down today and he loved its wild, untamed state.

He really didn't know and he felt stupid for not realizing it sooner and for making you feel uncomfortable around him. He worked so hard in the beginning to make you not fear him. He didn't exaggerate his words as much, he cut down on his fear tactics around you, virtually everything about himself was altered to gain your trust.

You were a timid little thing, eager to help him hide from the GCPD in exchange for nothing. You cooked, cleaned, kept him company (just not sexually) all with a smile on your face. You were so naïve yet brave, of course Joker fell for you!

You laughed at his silly jokes and that smile of yours was worth losing pieces of himself to appease you. He'd do anything to make you happy.

But Joker wanted more. He wanted to be selfish.

He wanted to corrupt your sweet and innocent demeanor and mold it to his will. He wanted those big doe eyes of yours to cloud over with lust and your full plump lips to stretch around his cock as he choked you with it.

He knew you'd be perfect underneath him; you were already such a sweet thing. A true people pleaser; doing any and everything to make his stay at your place more enjoyable.

What he would really enjoy is your pussy milking his cock for what it's worth.

It's all he thought about these days but you couldn't handle him removing your shirt, how in the world would he train you to be his cum-drunk bunny?

But Joker loved a challenge and you... you were worth the hassle.

"I never wanna scare my bunny away. She's so perfect, and oh so sweet. Too sweet.." He kissed you so softly, it made your head spin.

Joker pulled back before things started to get heavy, "But I realllly wanna taste ya more, Y/n. You trust me?"

You looked down and away until Joker chased after you. "No no nooo. None of that. Don't look away. I can teach you if you want."

"Teach me? But what if... What if I'm not good enough?" You whimpered.

That's what you were worried about? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was all in your head.

"Won't know until you try." He sang back. You seemed to understand that much and shifted your weight to straddle Joker more properly. He exhaled through his nose when you unknowingly rocked your hips into his dick.

"Okay. I think I wanna try now. Is that okay? C-Can we try right now, J?"

How could he say no to such a sweet request? You were so embarrassed yet enthusiastic about this, it made him go crazy. He kept his hands behind his head and sighed.

"Depends... How far ya wanna go?" He asked.

"What do you mean? How far with what?"

It took everything in Joker not to groan in frustration. Did your parents not teach you anything about sex? What kind of upbringing did you have to not know anything?

Joker wasn't sure if he could handle teaching you from scratch but everyone had to start somewhere.

"What do ya know about sex, Y/n?"

He watched you squirm and bite your lip. You had to know something to be interested and he would wait to see what he was working with before going further.

"Um.. the doctor at the clinic said it shouldn't h-hurt if my partner um.. p-preps me enough with foreplay. I think that means kissing and cuddling but once she brought out two dolls and started talking about positions I.. she lost me."

Joker was lost too. "Doctor?"

You nodded and wiggled your hips against him. You seriously had to stop doing that..

"I went to get checked after I saw you come out of the shower that day. I got really wet and uncomfortable um, d-down there, and nothing I did made the feeling go away. S-So I panicked and went to the clinic! It was super embarrassing but I think I understand the logistics of it all a little better. Joker? Are you okay?"

You poked his cheek since he looked spaced out and he had every right to be.

Horny. You were horny and didn't know why. Nothing you did made the feeling go away and he remembered back to that night when you trapped yourself in your room.

Just what all did you try? Did you get yourself off? How did you do it?

And then everything clicked. Your lingering eyes, the tiny shorts and flimsy tops. Those f__king thigh high socks... You started wearing them more and more frequently after his little shower stunt. Your body wanted him even if your brain didn't comprehend.

He was gonna have so much fun corrupting you.

In the blink of an eye, Joker had you flat on your back with your arms above your head. You were in shock, it happened so fast.

Joker let out a shaky exhale and looked you over.

"Next time you feel wet, come to me. I'll help.. relieve that pain, mkay? Do you feel wet now?" He asked as he grinded his knee into your sex. You jerked in his hold and winced.

"Um, a little.. that feels funny."

"Describe it to me." Joker purred into your ear. He trailed kisses down your neck to distract you from noticing he was lifting your top up.

Stupid thing wasn't covering anything, it was so thin.

"Ah! I-I feel warm and.. it aches.. but I don't know why. It's almost like there's an itch I need to scratch but I tried that!"

Joker had the brief image of your tiny hands poking and prodding your opening, trying desperately to soothe something only his cock could reach.

"Poor little bunny. Wanna know why it aches mmh?"

He heard you sigh out a yes. By then Joker was kissing your heaving chest and had an idea. Why remove your top the boring way? Nothing about tonight would be normal.

You gasped as Joker tore your top right off your body. Your breasts bounced from the action and Joker groaned seeing them already erect sans a bra. Just the perfect size for him to squeeze and worship. He was drooling already.

He locked eyes with you with a wolfish smile. "Cuz your greedy little pussy wants my cock.

"Y-Your cock?"

Joker groaned and leaned down to suck a nipple into his mouth while his hand got well acquainted with the other. It was so soft and tasted even better, but hearing your surprised moans was the topping on the cake.

You didn't know your breasts could feel so good but Joker's tongue swirling around the bud before his teeth bit it gently, was electrifying. It made the unknown feeling return tenfold.

"J-Joker! It's back! I feel weird again.."

Joker let your nipple go with a loud pop and gave the same attention to its twin but not without subtly rocking his hips into yours. Your wail was torturous.

"No! T-That's not it!" You sobbed even though your hips bucked up to meet Joker's. Something about the motion felt right, but it was missing a key element. Then you remembered Joker's comment.

"Can your umm.. cock fix it?"Joker groaned in pain. You would be the death of him. As if hearing you speak about it, his dick throbbed in his pants.

He looked up at your adorable pout and smiled. "Already using such ahh, vulgar language, baby doll. Goood girl. I knew your mouth was dirty."

He kissed down your stomach until he reached the band of your shorts. You braced your weight on your elbows to watch him. How was your mouth dirty? Did you say something bad?

Never mind that, Joker was finally addressing the problem dead on. "Are you gonna fix it, J?"

He looked up at you, a bit out of breath.

"I will bunny, just not yeT. The doc said I gotta prep you, remember? Don't wanna hurt my sweet girl now do I? Gotta hmm.. tr-eat her right.. Can I take these off?"

He asked so nicely, you couldn't say no. Anything to make this weird feeling go away, you'd do it.

You lifted your hips enough for Joker to slide your shorts and panties off in one fell swoop. Of course you didn't see him pocket said panties for safe keeping, but you quickly grew uncomfortable with the way he stared at your private parts.

Did it look weird? What if he didn't like it? You most certainly didn't. Any personal care was done as quickly as possible to avoid any unnecessary glimpses and you never looked at yourself the way Joker was right now.

He had yet to say anything but his unwavering gaze was starting to scare you. Did he have to stare for so long?

You whimpered and tried to cover your sex but Joker merely slapped your hand away. 

"Stop looking at me..." You whined. That finally got Joker to meet your eye. 

"Why not Y/n? Every part of you is sooo pretty. I wanna taste it..."

Before you could question the legitimacy behind his words, Joker licked your pussy with a guttural groan. The vibrations it left felt so good, you didn't realize you grabbed a hold of his hair. Joker didn't mind and quickly forgot about you being a virgin as he ate you out like a man on a mission.

"Soooooo sweet.. an' juicy.." He said in between licks.

Joker tuned out your startled babbles and pleas to savor the unique taste of your pussy. Your juices fell on his tongue like ambrosia and he lapped up every last drop that you steadily produced with gusto.

It was an honor to be the first to taste you and Joker pulled out everything in his bag of tricks to take you to the summit. Your first orgasm. F__k he wanted it all for himself.

He flicked his tongue over your clit and ever so gently slid his middle finger inside your cunt.

"Joker!" You screamed.

He chuckled as he eased it in up to his knuckle but met resistance. "Hush now baby doll. I gotta get ya loosened up to take something muchhh bigger than this..."

Something bigger? Your mind couldn't even fathom the thought. You writhed on his finger in a newfound agony until another sharp pain made you gasp.

Joker shushed you and kissed your clit as another finger slid its way into your tight hole. You were doing so well all things considered. Joker let endless praises fall from his lips in between kissing and sucking on your pussy. You seemed to unknowingly enjoy praise, if the fresh flow of juices from your slit were any indication. Joker twisted his wrist so his two fingers slid in deeper to scissor your hole wider. You were welcoming the foreign invasion but he could feel the restraint still lying dormant within you.

With every pump of his fingers, he made sure to stretch them just a bit deeper and a lot wider to further his goal. After a while, you relaxed around his two fingers and seemed to enjoy the new sensation he introduced to you.

He added a third finger even as you whimpered in protest.

"Shhh, you need thissss." Joker angled his fingers in a come hither motion to stroke your g spot directly. You jerked in shock and clamped down on his fingers.

"R-Right there, J..ahh yessss.."

Joker grinned when you practically melted to his touch. That 'itch' you kept going on about was finally being attended to. This is what you craved all along.

But something was happening. A pressure you never felt before was building and you knew it wasn't good.

"J-J..ok— ahh! I feel.. weird. I think I'm mmhph!! I don't wanna.." You cried out.

Joker saw your thighs twitching and grinned. He wondered when you'd get close. "Let it go Bunny. It's okay."

Joker's deep voice urged you on, where exactly— you were unsure of, but he was more knowledgeable than you here. Even though your brain protested the feeling, since the rising pressure resembled that of using the bathroom, you let your body's natural instinct take control.

"Listen to your body, Princess. She knows what's best."

You nodded at Joker's vague words and let the feeling build more and more. You felt hot all over and dizzy yet Joker would not stop until you crumbled completely under pressure.

He kept your thighs spread open and grinned like a certified madman as he sped up his fingers, pumping into your hole until it audibly gushed out. Almost there..

Something was happening within your body that you couldn't comprehend. Your ears were ringing and tears streamed down your face as a white hot coil snapped just underneath your navel.

You felt like passing out, it was so intense yet you moaned as waves of pleasure washed over you.

And Joker drank everything you gave. He watched you die and come back anew right before his eyes and it was such a sight to behold.

You came back shivering and weak but had enough strength to pose the question. "W-what just h-happened?"

Joker left a lasting kiss on your clit before he crawled up your body. It was flush with a sheen of sweat and desire and he showered every inch of it with affection on his travels.

"Did ya enjoy your first orgasm?" He mumbled on your shoulder. "I sure did."

"O-Orgasm? So... I didn't pee?"

Gosh you were so cute, he wanted to ruin you so bad.  "Mmhm. NoT quite. You came so hard for meeee. And ya taste so good too, see?"

Joker kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, although he laughed when you jerked back in disgust.

"That's not sweet! More like tangy and salty! Eww.. and you like that?" You said while wiping your mouth clean. You were still convinced you relieved yourself, however the texture was more creamier than liquid that told you otherwise.

"I do. Very. Very. Much." To prove his point, he licked his fingers clean of you while you watched in intrigue. It got you thinking..

"Umm, w-what do you taste like J?"

Joker died then and there. You asked him so casually, was he corrupting you too fast? Of course not. You blinked owlishly at Joker waiting for a response. All he could do was chuckle under his breath.

"I'll let ya have a uhh, taste another day Bunny. Right now, f__k, I gotta.. I need to be inside this pussy. Are ya still itchy?"

You blinked twice before nodding your head.

Whatever Joker did just then was amazing but it wasn't enough to quell the unknown feeling between your legs. You still couldn't form the right words to explain the sensation though. Maybe you could ask Joker about it later. Right now, your fears were bubbling up to the surface as he towered over you.

"You'll be gentle right? It won't hurt?"

Joker sighed before kissing you soundly. He then reached a hand down to check your entrance. You were still wet and you moaned into Joker's mouth at the soothing circles he left on your sensitive bud. "Mmm it shouldn't, Bunny."

Joker stopped rubbing your clit so he could remove his shirt and pants. You watched in awe as his body was revealed to you. Sure you saw glimpses of it here and there but fully bare before you now, Joker was stunning.

How did you get so lucky?

"There's no need to be shy, Y/n." Joker cooed at you.

He noticed you were still hesitant and moved your hands to his chest for you. Seeing your hands on him.. it was a step in the right direction. He couldn't wait to see them wrapped around his cock.

Baby steps though. Today was your first time but if he played his cards right.... Why not go big rather than go home?

With Joker's permission, you caressed the hard planes of his chest and abs, wondering what the large indentation in his briefs was. The second your hand brushed against it, Joker hissed and grabbed your wrist.

Your eyes flickered up to his deep jade in awe.

"Easy there, bunny." He shivered. You tilted your head to the side in wonder until Joker let his cock spring out from his underwear. Your face was priceless.

"I take it, it's ya first time seeing one?"

You subconsciously clenched around nothing and nodded listlessly. Joker snorted and decided to let you explore uncharted territory. You know, get a little bit of hands-on training.

"Go on. Touch iT." Joker whispered in your ear as he guided your hands around his dick. He stifled his groans as your timid touch groped his shaft. J was soft yet hard at the same time and you paled at the thought of it in you.

If his fingers almost made you faint, what would this do? It felt powerful and ominous in your hands and oddly hot to the touch. Veins ran up the length of it and when you looked closer, a clear bead of liquid was oozing out the top. For some unknown reason you wanted to lick it up but second guessed yourself at the last minute.

"Is this.. going inside m-me? J, I don't think..."

"Yes it will." You wondered how Joker knew your exact thought, "I'll make it fit and you'll take every.. last.. inch. Under-stand?"

You jerked your head in a nod and it seemed to satisfy Joker since he nodded back. With that out of the way, Joker let you acquaint yourself with his dick until he grew impatient and batted your hands away. Any more stimuli and he would've cum prematurely.

He couldn't finish before the deflowering party got started. But he didn't calculate the way you were driving him nuts.

"Look at me Y/n. That, uhh, ache you have right here." Joker rubbed your womb affectionately before tipping your chin up with his fingers.

You were on your knees before him, patiently waiting for anything he would give.

"Your mind is still unsure but your body... mmmm, your body knows what it wants. Keep listening to your body, mkay? It's gonna be reallllly scary, and I. Won't. Stop. either, but you have to trust me bunny. Trust that I'm doing this to.. make you feel good. I'm going to ruin your pussy and there's nothing you can do about iT."

Your bottom lip trembled in fear but you nodded at Joker. He wouldn't deliberately hurt you.. right?

"O-Okay.. I trust you." Joker's smile was absolutely feral hearing you surrender to him so easily. You'd regret that later.

"That'sss my sweet girl. So! You're all wet and horny and need to be filled? So achy and needy? I'll help ya.."

Out of the blue Joker pushed you down on the bed and you yelped at the sudden shift in the air. "J? What're.."

"ShuT. Up. You deserve someone who will treat ya right. Mmm, should've picked someone else then. Lemme break you Princess, open up for me."

You didn't like where this was going but Joker did say to trust him. It was going to be scary but you had to trust him. Didn't mean you had to like it. You didn't want him breaking anything of yours!

Before you could turn your head away, Joker already grabbed a hold of it.

"Look at me! I said... spread your legs slut."

If Joker didn't see your pussy glistening with cum, he would have dialed things back but surprise surprise, his little virgin liked being dominated. You liked his meaner side even if your brain couldn't wrap itself around the idea. Joker was over the moon discovering your kinks way before you did.

He watched in glee as you parted your thighs for him. Your pretty folds were glistening like the delicate flower it was. Joker repeatedly slapped his dick on your puffy lips and you jumped in shock with each unexpected smack.

Even if you could squirm away, Joker would just drag you back. With one hand keeping your face towards him, he used the other to prod his cock in your slick juices.

You were so wet, he almost slipped inside with no resistance. He let you coat his dick completely and hissed at the warmth beckoning him in.

"Don't... look... away. Here we go. Ahh s__t, oh shhh shh Y/n, I know. I-I know it hurts and that.. Heh, that's just the tip.."

You were a panting mess. It felt like you were being split apart and he barely had the tip inside? This wasn't what you signed up for! "Joker, wait!!"

He muffled your cries with a kiss and bullied his way deeper inside of your tight walls, one agonizing inch at a time. You clawed at his forearm that was holding your face and wept at the sting his cock left behind.

It wasn't supposed to hurt yet it felt good at the same time. You couldn't decide which sensation overpowered the other, but right when you thought you couldn't take anymore, Joker bottomed out inside of you— groaning at your walls gripping him tight as you sobbed uncontrollably around him.

"Ahhh! Please, Joker no more!" You begged. Joker settled in within you, laughing.

"Whaddya mean, Bunny? That's it! Good job for taking me soooo well. You ahh, took it a-all on the first try. Breathe doll. Ya gotta breathe."

Joker groaned as you turned a little blue in the face. His cock was already making you go stupid and he had yet to start thrusting.

He wanted to tease you about it but he wasn't any better as your gummy walls choked the life out of his dick. You felt absolutely sinful wrapped around him. He felt lightheaded from the intense heat your body enveloped him in. 

"How does it f-feel to not be a.. mmm.. virgin anymore?"

"F-Full..." You wheezed out.

"Yeah? What if I ahh, take it away?" Joker pulled out, till nothing but the aching tip remained and you cried out, begging him to come back. "I knew it, such a greedy little slut... but today I'll be generous. Here you go."

He thrust into you sharply, making you arch your back and disrupt the grip he had on your face. "Ohh you like it rough, doll?"

Joker grabbed your hips instead and set his knees into the bed. Each word was drilled into your pussy with a powerful, breathtaking thrust. "Good. To. Know."

You couldn't think straight let alone form words from the assault. All that could escape your lips was Joker's shortened name and pornagraphic moans.

You were tossing your head side to side and drooling up a storm. Joker thought it was the prettiest thing in the world. You were a natural.

"And you thoughT you wouldn't be good enough, HA! You're perfect for meeee.. I should've taken you months ago, f__k." Joker didn't care if he was talking too much, you were proving to be too much for him to handle.

Between your tight pussy suffocating his cock, to your breast bouncing in his face, Joker didn't know where to focus his attention.

That is, until you made the decision for him.

You never followed his instructions. He didn't care how hard it was to focus, he wanted to see the moment your brain shut down and floated away. How could he do that if you closed your eyes?

Joker growled and picked up the pace but not before squeezing your throat. "What.. did I tell you? Don't. Look. Away."

He wasn't expecting you to let out an airy giggle in response. You would be his undoing. Smiling as he choked you? It was like you were made for him.

Joker groaned and lost himself, giving it his all to make you feel good. This was your first time after all. He would stop at nothing to make it perfect.

You weren't complaining as you struggled to breathe in between the brutal pace Joker set and with his hand wrapped tightly around your throat.

A while ago, the initial pain of his cock entering your hole morphed into mind numbing pleasure. Now you understood the hype behind sex. Why did your parents and other adults growing up censor this from you?

It was indescribable the way Joker made you feel. You were in fact seeing stars with each cant of his hips. Had you known sex could feel this good sooner, you couldn't even wrap your head around the possibilities your teenage self could have created.

"nny? Bunny? Come back to meeeee. There ya are! Heh, thought I squeezed too tight."

You blinked back the fog to notice Joker had come to a stop inside of you and was doting on you with a slight look of concern in his eyes. It was gone by the time you cleared your throat.

He let go of it during your brief stint in headspace when he saw your eyes roll back.

There was a fine line between breath play and choking. Joker wasn't about to go too far, especially since this was your first time.

He wanted this to be memorable, not kill you. So against his wishes, he stopped to check on you when you became unresponsive.

You were breathing normally again (albeit your eyes were still glazed over) but he proposed a new idea anyway. "Wanna try a different position?"

You stretched your arms out for Joker to grab onto with a meek nod. He chuckled at your innocence on full display.

His sweet girl was a pillow Princess through and through.

Too bad he wanted to corrupt that and everything else about you. You would be a ravenous minx by the end of his teachings, that much he was certain of.

Joker sighed as he left your warmth and drummed up a good position in his head. There were so many he wanted to try with you but one in particular made him grin deviously.

You caught sight of it and gulped down your fear. "J... please be.."

"Nothing about me is gentle doll. Remember thaT. Now, what's a sweet little thing like you owning a big mirror like this hmmm?"

Joker scooped you up from the bed and slammed you face first into the floor length mirror that you had set up in the room.

He loved seeing your shock reflect through the mirror.

"Do ya use it to touch yourself? Can't blame ya if you do. I'd watch this body too.." He fondled your hips and squeezed your breasts as you shook your head in denial.

You watched yourself in the mirror being manhandled at a loss for words.

"N-No! It's not l-like that!" You cried out when Joker yanked your hair back in his strong grip. All you could do was grip the mirror's frame, less you lose your balance.

Joker had you standing on your tippy toes with your head tilted all the way back in order to stare up into his eyes.

"Open your mouth." He ordered.

You did without hesitation but froze when Joker spat right onto your tongue.

"Ahht ahht, swallow. Now." He growled. He didn't care if it was yucky to you, it asserted his dominance over you and he grinned when you teared up but swallowed on command.

He noticed your legs rubbing against each other and knew subconsciously you loved it. That innocent mind of yours was holding you back however.

"It's always the shy ones." Joker chuckled under his breath. In an instant he used your hair to guide you back onto his dick. Your breath was stolen right from you by the unexpected invasion.

"Oh bunnyyyy, you got tighter." He groaned.

He rammed his cock into you at a bruising pace and yanked your hair whenever you tried to look away. Your only option was to lean forward onto the cool mirror and watch as J pounded into you from behind on its surface.

The sight of your nude body being taken in such a way was embarrassing— all flushed and slack jawed, but Joker was right there behind you, whispering how beautiful you were and how lucky he was to take your v card. 

Whatever that meant.

What you did know was that Joker was thrusting into you harder than ever and that wondrous feeling from before was fast approaching again. You were unsure how Joker managed to fit his length inside of you yet there was a noticeable bulge in your stomach that you couldn't keep your eyes off of.

Joker followed your gaze through the mirror and relocated one of his hands to rub against it during each snap of his hips. And when he pressed down on it? You sang praises to his name.

"You.. really are stuffed.. fuuc—full of me huh, baby doll? G-Gooood, that's good." He smiled into your skin and picked up the pace, like he wasn't already rattling the mirror and artwork against the wall with every rough thrust.

You were swaying on your feet from the pleasure and it grew the moment Joker rubbed erratic circles on your clit.

You couldn't handle the added stimuli and tried moving his hand away because this time it really felt like you were..

Your undoing completely blindsided you; it was so intense. Your legs shook like a newborn's and you almost fell if not for Joker catching you at the last minute. He was in high spirits, cooing in your ear.

"D__n, Y/n! Goood girl, C'mon.. breathe for me Bunny.. yeah. That was.. heh somethin' else wasn't it? Shhh shhhh easy now.." He ignored the wet mirror dripping with your cum to help you down onto the plush rug at your feet.

You were twitching and pushing Joker away but he fought back and flipped you onto your stomach.

Your legs were still dripping wet from squirting, so your pussy accepted Joker back inside no issue.

That didn't mean your brain was so welcoming. "J.. too much, I-I can't!"

He just positioned your hips into a painful looking arch and drilled your pussy like no tomorrow.

"I. Don't. Care. Bunny. Ahh, you... ohh, youuuu got to cum twice now, selfish little whore. N-Now it's my turn and I'm gonna.. use ya.. like the dirty slut we both know ya are!"

He threw his head back as he slammed your hips back to take his dick over and over. The way your skin rippled with each thrust, the echo of wet skin on skin, your pathetic cries floating in the air; Joker loved every detail.

A quick glance to his right gave him the perfect view of your back arching in the mirror and your tear stained face smushed into the rug.

You were taking his cock with a blissed out smile on your face. Joker truly was a lucky man. Your first time and you were already showing signs of being a perfect cock-slut.

What more could he ask for in a partner?

He'd love exposing you to his most kinkiest desires and treating his touch starved Princess to all of the pleasures known to mankind. By the way your weeping pussy was still throwing it back on him and squeezing his dick so tight, physically you were still in the game.

A shame your mind couldn't keep up.

He laughed at the broken pleas spilling from your lips. Your mind was still a virgin but your body never truly was. This body of yours was begging for his cum.

And he would deliver.

Joker choked on a moan as his release creeped up on him. His hips lost their rhythm and became more primal in the desperate need to cum. Joker reached down and grabbed ahold of your hair to twist your face towards him.

"Now this... ohh shi— tt-this is the ahh, most important part Bunny. Good.. gooood girls get rewarded. T-They get cum deeeeep in their greedy little wombs. You.. you want thaT? You want my cum?" He asked.

You didn't understand a single word but nodded aways. "Yes J, please!"

Joker was too close to mock your eagerness. He was spouting nonsense himself; his head was so mushy.

"I'm gunna give it to ya. You've been such a good little bunny. This'll make ya feel sooo much better, so full n' complete. All m-mine.. you'll take it yeah? Won't you, Y/n?"

Joker had more to say but two thrusts later, he erupted in your pussy, painting it white with no end in sight.

Joker's release triggered one last orgasm from you as his hot cum bathed your walls and sent you down a spiral.

You collapsed and Joker's weight kept you pressed to the floor as he continued to rock his hips into you, unable to stop himself. Both of you struggled to catch a breath but Joker regained his senses first and rolled over onto his side, dragging you with him.

Naturally he was the big spoon and showered you with much needed affection.

You were shivering with aftershocks with a faraway expression on your face. He hummed as he softened inside you and waited until he was coherent enough to check on you.

"Y/n?" He brushed a lock of hair off your shoulder. "You uhhh alright?" Joker turned you around and you clung to him instantly.

He rubbed your back and petted your hair, a complete 180 of the dominant man rearranging your guts just moments prior.

"I wasn't too rough, no? If ya didn't li-ke it or.. uhh, we can try again? More gentler—-"

You cut him off with a kiss.

Joker looked down at you in shock. Your beautiful face was wet with tears but your eyes... those sweet e/c shined so brightly at him in adoration. 

"It was p-perfect, J. T-Thank you." You kissed him again and collapsed into his arms when your strength suddenly failed you.

You landed on his chest and left kisses where you could reach. They were weak brushes of your lips, but Joker didn't mind. At least you were okay.

"Mmm, err don't thanK me just yet doll. C'mere." He tipped your head back so the two of you could lock eyes.

"This... was tame compared to what I'll do to ya next time."

Your eyes widened. "N-Next time?"

Joker snickered at your innocent wonder and nodded. Somethings just wouldn't change he guessed.

"Mmhm. There's so much more to learn Y/n.." He tucked a curl of hair behind your ear. You were so pretty in your afterglow, he couldn't even focus on what he was saying.

Joker didn't know how long he was gonna lay low with the authorities but he knew he was staying here with you for a very, very long time.

[harmonysanreads]

i keep on thinking about yan!neuvillette lately ever since i saw those posts you reblogged 😭🙏

yan!neuvillette who has you arrested and tried in fontaine’s supreme court. having secretly worked with the prosecutors to make sure that the odds are against you, he rules that you are guilty of a crime which you, in reality, didn’t commit — but the evidence was stacked against you, and the defence certainly had no chance in winning the trial.

after all, neuvillette was the chief justice of the supreme court. the highest position one could have in this nation, second only to the hydro archon herself. who wouldn’t trust his judgement, especially when it appeared that you truly were guilty of the crimes you were accused of?

yan!neuvillette, expected by society to uphold the law and help maintain peace and order within the nation as their reliable chief justice, but neuvillette knew how to keep his position and reputation secure while using his vast knowledge of all the ins and outs of the laws, and what loopholes there are and aren’t in order to bend things to his will — namely, your circumstances. nobody knew fontaine’s legal system better than he did; and you’re the only thing he’d bend the rules for.

the majestic ornate walls of gold within the opera epiclese have never felt so suffocating before.

and, as she always did with every trial, the hydro archon oversaw yours; but it appeared that all she cared for was excitement, seeking thrills and theatrical twists that belonged to the stage. it was made clear rather quickly that the last thing she would do was interfere with neuvillette’s verdict, evidently having long lost her interest in your case.

there’s nothing else to turn to. no one else to turn to. neuvillette had the highest form of authority that a citizen of the land of justice could hold, so even if you were highly dissatisfied with the result of your trial, there was no higher court you could appeal to. the decision of the supreme court was final.

yan!neuvillette who even gave periodical visits to you down in the prisons, much to your surprise and apparent confusion — you would’ve thought that any business with this man was over the moment the gavel was struck and the court adjourned. but whatever matters a man as important as neuvillette had to tend to in the prison, he certainly spent a good portion of that time speaking to you. even the prison guards were momentarily dismissed while he stood before the bars of your cell to hold brief talks with you.

yan!neuvillette who one day quite nonchalantly revealed that he was actually fully aware of your innocence during the trial.

does he truly hold the right to judge the crimes of others if he, too, is guilty of committing such injustices behind the scenes?

the sudden spark of realisation and anger in your eyes, that shift in expression that was a fire that burned so strongly, caused the slightest change in his otherwise neutral conduct. it’s something that made you so interesting to him. however, venomous insults began to spill out of your lips, ruining that momentary image. you should remember your current circumstances, he reminded you. you were in no position to be uttering such expletives towards him, of all people. and to think he was about to offer you a way out, a way to clear your name, perhaps..

but you only deserve such a mercy if you hold your tongue and cooperate with him.

the conversation continued no further that day — he walked off without another word, leaving you to your own thoughts.

- 🕯️

Mmmmmm, delectable as always nonnie! I love how we all agree that Yandere!Neuvillette is so unfair in all the ironic ways. Not only are you unable to oppose his unjust verdicts but also you cannot reason with his logic. Since we're still yet to see more of him, you know what would make him absolutely terrifying? If he had not even a shred of guilt for what he was doing. And seeing as how Focalors never really intervenes in the trials, we can guess who gives him all this power and self-assurance. All speculations thus far, of course.

Neuvillette seems like someone who values etiquette. That being said, I don't think he's someone who'd opt for physical punishments rather, he'd probably make you memorize all the ridiculous court etiquette of Fontaine. Especially if you misbehave, the tomes of Fontaine's constitution are waiting for you.

[sgiandubh]

I’m reading the new Clanlands book. I was hoping it would be a fun read like the first one, no narrative. I’ve now read two different passages in the book where Sam talks about running into a woman he finds attractive whether it’s a hotel patron, hotel staff, or shop worker, including this passage about Valentines Day. He hoped to ask the woman making his smoothie on a date and instead ended up alone in his hotel room on Valentine’s Day dreaming about a romantic night in his hotel room with the fantasy date that never came to fruition.

I wish for once we shippers could get a win instead of taking one step forward and two steps back if you know what I mean. It’s hard to hold out hope of Sam and Cait ever coming out publicly when there’s interviews and books filled with the narrative.

Dear Valentine's Day Anon,

You start with a lie. You are not reading that book. You have read someone else's (dutiful Marple, as always, all hands on deck) choice of salacious/commercial/crappy sentimental passages of a 150 to 200 pages book chock-a-block full with other things. You, therefore, have an F- from me for laziness and naïveté. When you speak about a text, any text (and this, Anon, scarcely is literature), please be honest with yourself and wait until the end. The same way you should never judge a book by its cover, do not judge a book by some excerpts someone picked up in order to show you how desperate the author is to sell it.

Reading is a personal affair. Buy the book. Read it all. And then you'll be qualified to have a grounded opinion. I am not in a hurry to read it and I certainly had no hopes he would give us a single ounce of his reality or truth in a commercial companion to a TV show, as this book clearly is.

Then, there's also that: it is a ghostwritten book and not a very good one. Travel books are also always rife with false self-references and I hope, for one, you do not believe there is anything remotely objective in Marco Polo's Book of the Marvels of the World (some say he never got where he told all the Western World he did!). And if Marco Polo himself lied shamelessly, why wouldn't SRH do exactly the same, for the needs of a scantily cobbled show where he is playing the decoratively fit clown along his older, wiser, nerdy companion?

I was shown the reactions to those dutifully poisonous posts. A mob, cackling and the host gleefully throwing gasoline on that fire (but oh, no: she is not a hater - my foot she isn't). The only comment that truly broke my heart, Anon, is this one:

What a terrible person must the woman who wrote that be! What a horrible, empty life she must have! Please, for the name of everything holy, leave Chrissie Heughan out of your putrid pettiness! She raised her boys by herself and with very little. Whoever wrote this comment should really, really be ashamed of herself. She can even say whatever she wants about SRH, but she should leave his family out of her hatred. Not a single woman in that thread corrected or challenged her. Not. A. Single. One.

You also tell me you are tired with the tango. I also think no real shipper could fall, by now, for these tired tricks. And if you do believe the interviews and books more than they should be, you are the perfect fodder for those interviews and books that can and should be questioned, as anything else in this strange story is critically questioned every single day.

So you see, Anon, I will perhaps be interested in your grounded opinion the day you will come back after reading the whole book, not Marple's Reader Digest version. If anything, your uninformed, gluttonous curiosity backfired. Unless you came here to spread the holy shite on this doorknob, too. But that is your problem, Anon. Not mine.

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting: Holghras Results

Now for what everyone -- or at least a certain percentage -- has been waiting for: the results for the Holghras! Anyone who found that sentence confusing can catch up by checking this page: https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting .

This time around, they should all fit into one post, as the response was a little smaller. I see how it is: everyone wants to draw Spooky Corpse-Eater With Magic, but nobody wants to draw Horny Bird With Problems.

I kid, of course. The Wutugald had some pretty clear visual elements that people could hook onto, but the Holghras entry is mostly about its behavior and doesn't give much information on what it looks like beyond "it's a bird". So it's pretty clear why people might have a harder time drawing artistic inspiration from that one. (And I really and truly appreciate those of you who took a crack at it anyway.) The level of physical description is going to vary a lot entry to entry, I'm afraid -- to some extent I think it's about whether it's an animal the reader is expected to be familiar with, but there are definitely a few detailed visual descriptions of animals most medieval Europeans would have seen because the author wants to do some symbolism. So it's a toss-up. Anyway, here's the link to the description people are working from:

And the results, again roughly in order of appearance. If yours isn't here, let me know -- I saw one post that said something about Tumblr eating their original attempt, presumably out of Bird Homophobia. I'm happy to reblog any that I missed due to Tumblr's functionality.

@bruncikara (link to post here) gives us our first interpretation. I really enjoy the medieval bestiary style, including the use of the Generic Medieval Plant that always reminds me of mutant asparagus. I think the border is designed to evoke the thorns in which the Holghras nests, which I also appreciate. The bird's pose, flat on its back with its neck curved up, is great, and it's shown performing its signature Hide With Dirt move. I think at least some of the inspiration comes from quails here, judging by the head... feather... thing... [Wikipedia break] ... okay, apparently it's just called a "plume", which I should have guessed. This is the first example of the common (and correct!) assumption that the Holghras is a member of the order Galliformes.

@jamiethekeener (link to post here) gives us this one, also posing with its signature dirt clods. I'm reminded of a cardinal, personally. The artist provides a brief comment on their design, noting that they are not a bird expert. I think this is a pretty cute juvenile bird, and the way it holds the dirt comes off as kind of playful.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has produced another very naturalistic drawing, which (in my non-expert opinion) manages to look very much like a real bird without specifically looking like any bird in particular. They apparently do know birds, because they specifically name-drop Galliformes in their description of their design decisions. I like the decision to also include one of the bird's Signature Behaviors, i.e., the mother carrying her chicks.

@pomrania (link to post here) has given their Holghras a selection of striking features, which they explain in their post. There's a lot in that post, actually, and I really enjoyed reading the whole journey of this particular drawing. You should go read it too -- the post linked above also provides a draft version, a link to a series of progress sketches, and a link to an explanation of their design choices that includes rumination on how to make a bird look "slutty". Go check it out, we'll be here when you get back.

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) describes her design choices briefly, indicating that her goal was to pick Bird Attributes that could look unsettling in combination and suggest that the bird depicted has a "terrible sex life". Mission accomplished, I think -- that bird does not look trustworthy. Also now we know that thing on its head is just called a plume, so good for us. I really like the effect the -- watercolor? I think? I don't know art -- provides, and that seagull-esque spot on its beak really is a great touch.

@rautavaara (link to post here) has done another beautifully stylized drawing with a very pleasant color scheme. They provide a brief explanation of their design decisions in the linked post. I'm particularly struck by the fact that this version of the Holghras apparently carries its young in the same way that the folkloric version of the stork carries babies: in some kind of cloth wrapping held in the beak. I also like that the chick's feet are sticking out.

@mobileleprechaun (link to post here) apparently had some trouble posting this, but I'm glad they got it through, because it's delightful. I like the little bird on the right with its feet sticking straight up, and the other one under its mother's wing/arm. When I first saw this, I was briefly puzzled why the drawing contrasted male and female birds, because they looked quite similar -- then I noticed the tailfeathers -- then I looked more closely at the male's tailfeathers and cracked up a little bit. The linked post provides a brief explanation of the design decisions, including why the wings look so much like arms. It also has a couple tags that I find funny.

@karthara (link to post here) provides this excellent image as well as a brief explanation of their design choices. I love the over-the-top tailfeathers on the extremely-sexy purple male Holghrases, and the babies dangling from under the female's wing, and the fact that the clod of dirt being held up by the juvenile is at least as big as the bird holding it. Also, those ridiculous tailfeathers are apparently inspired by the Onagadori rooster, which means we're back with the Galliformes.

@embervoices (link to post here) did this adorable drawing of the juvenile Holghras. I particularly like that she's taken a different route than having it just hold up the dirt: this one apparently has a little hidey-hole like a trapdoor spider. This is just very cute all around, I like it.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) provides this excellent and action-packed depiction, along with a wonderfully detailed explanation of their design decisions. (I love reading those.) From their post, it's clear that they also know more about birds than I do, and also name-check the Galliformes as the most likely category. Apparently the bird-people of Tumblr have this critter's number. Also, that is a masterful depiction of a bird running off with an egg, I have to say.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has done another medieval-styled rendition, which I really enjoy. This is also, I believe, the first appearance of a human in any of these drawings. (Well. Live human, at least.) I enjoy the depiction of the female bird doing her fake limp to lead the human away from her nest while the males engage in their weird drama up in the right. They provide an explanation of their design choices and inspiration in the linked post.

@scarlettbookworm (link to post here) has given us a drawing that showcases several of the odd behaviors described in the entry. The linked post also provides a description of their design process and an explanation of their decisions. I think this is another very cute picture of a bird holding up dirt, and I enjoy the one at the top shouting "HOLGHRAS!" The egg-stealer over in the bottom right is very good also.

@moustawott (link to post here) has drawn this very vulture-like Holghras in what I have to say is a very well-done bushy area. I had to look twice to realize the background was actually cleverly-arranged splashes and blobs of color that strongly suggest that we're in a bush. Very good art, love the style, and that fuzzy baby Holghras is cute as hell. The linked post provides an explanation of the design decisions.

@strixcattus (link to post here) gives us this rendition of the Holghras, which they describe as being inspired by a prairie chicken and a potoo. Prairie chickens are, of course... Galliformes. Another tally mark in that column. I'm particularly delighted by the giant mouth on the chick in the bottom right. As they did last time, the artist has provided a detailed modern-naturalist interpretation of the animal, which is of course in the linked post. I recommend checking that out; maybe it's just because I'm the kind of huge nerd that I am, but I think these are great.

@treesurface (link to post here) gives us a Holghras that they describe as a cross between a bird of prey and a bird of paradise, which I think is a pretty good idea that fits both the aggressive behavior and the mating behavior described in the entry. I enjoy the fact that multiple artists have decided this bird Likes Big Tailfeathers (and it does lie, but about different things).

@ashfly (link to post here) gives us this picture of a juvenile Holghras holding up its clump of dirt. They also indicate that they have an idea of what it is, which I really hope they'll share now that it's posted and the bird's out of the bag, because I was 100% certain nobody would guess this one. The fuzzy bird is cute, of course, and the rainbow legs are really striking. (Pride legs, perhaps?) I also like that it's clearly looking over at the "camera" to see if we're buying it.

And finally, the official medieval depiction:

... hm. Yeah, some absolute bastard apparently cut out a bunch of the miniatures in this manuscript at one point. Luckily, we have the Ashmole Bestiary over at the Bodleian Library, which is extremely similar, so we can get an idea of the image that was here:

And also, this entry in the Aberdeen Bestiary comes with two images. Here's the other one:

I'm going to assume the choice of coloration was up to the individual artist and the missing Aberdeen illustration was also brown, because the Ashmole version of the egg-stealer also has the more colorful pattern:

Anyway, in case you haven't recognized it from these helpful and very accurate images, this is the partridge. Now you know what's going on in those pear trees.

I don't actually have anything else to add about that. I was frankly a little surprised there was even an entry for "partridge".

[folklorefairyy]

of doting and dnd - e.m

summary - in which you ask eddie to teach you how to play dnd and fall for him in the process

word count - 2.077k

author’s note - this is a request sent by my lovely friend @sunflowergirl522 it’s exactly what i love in the premise for an eddie fic and i hope you enjoy it <3

ps it’s not proofread in the slightest… so if you see any issues please let me know!

warnings - i have written this with the implications of this being a fem!reader

Eddie had often spotted you, the pretty girl in the cheerleading uniform, making eyes at the Hellfire Club table - at him.

At first he just assumed that, despite your sweetness, you were probably just staring at the ‘freaks’ like everyone else. Overtime, he noticed your gaze lingered on the way he gestured enthusiastically when he proposed his new campaign or how you were often peering at the new dice or figures theyd recently painted on the table, trying to work out their little details from afar.

Once again, he would assume you were judging them for their ‘satanic interests’, if not for your doe-eyed stares and the way you bashfully lowered your gaze to the table whenever he caught your eye. From then on, Eddie had begun to look at you less as the pretty cheerleader who stared at his club and more as the pretty cheerleader who had a curiosity in her eyes that sparked one of his own.

Today was the same as any other. You’re sat amongst your cheer friends, them being too engrossed in the latest gossip to notice how enthralled you were with the sweet metalhead on the table over. Eddie, on the other hand, is never too busy to notice you. In fact, you did quite the opposite to him - often distracting him from his train of thought as he took in your sweet face and pretty eyes, always drifting to him.

Unlike any other day, you act on your growing interest with the Hellfire Club and make your way towards his table. Eddie, used to only observing from afar, takes a double take at the way you slowly grow closer. Your steps look confident but he notices how you pull your lower lips between your teeth, and he can only wonder just what about the situation makes you nervous - lord knows he’s intimidating but a small part of him hopes he doesn't scare you.

Up close you're even prettier than he already thought you were from your usual table. Your hands nervously pick at your skirt, delicate skin threaded in green fabric and your eyes hold an ever enchanting glint that he fears he may get lost in them.

You raise one of your hands in a tiny wave, still glued to your side and mumble a ‘Hi’, eyes looking everywhere but his own. Eddie thinks his heart may just melt. You’re just a bundle of sweetness and he can't help but want more, the slightest taste creating the strongest sweet tooth.

‘Hi,’ he greets back, a hint of amusement in his voice, entirely too giddy at finally speaking to you. There is a dimple carved into his cheek that you fixate your gaze on, shoe tapping against the floor as you try and word your question. Your hesitancy is what stops Eddie from truly teasing you, not wanting to be his usual rousing self. Despite his concern over your behaviour ,there is curiosity, the oressingthoguht of ‘why?’ Why were you here, at his table? Why were you speaking to him? The ‘King of Freaks.’

‘Eddie,’ you start softly, finally meeting his eyes. Holding eye contact so close leaves you both breathless for a moment, before you continue, trying to harness newfound confidence, his beautiful brown eyes a reminder of why you sought him out in the first place, a reminder of the longing stares that had led to this very moment.

‘You know my name?’ he suddenly asks bewildered, your previous word finally registering in his brain. With that you giggle, hand moving to your mouth, to try and hide your smile. He smiles in response at eliciting suc ha response, proud at making the sweetest song fall from your lips.

You tilt your head and say teasingly, your confidence growing the more you’re in his presence, ‘Eddie, you make a cafeteria speech at least once a month, you’re hard to miss.’

He holds his arms out wildly and bows, ‘Touche, milady, touche.’ At this you giggle more and his smile grows wider, eyes crinkling in the corners with delight. ‘Now, how can I be of service?’

The cheesy nature of his speech calms you further, your planned question feeling less ridiculous as the minutes pass. ‘Eddie, could you teach me how to play dnd?’ you ask tentatively, adding a ‘please’ to the end.

The question has Eddie’s mind whirring and he thinks he may just short-circuit. ‘Yo- you want me,’ he gestures towards himself, voice rising an octave and head-shaking in disbelief, ‘to teach you,’ he proceeds to gesture towards you, eyes widening, ‘how to play dnd?’

‘I- yeah, it seems really fun and you’re so passionate about it, I thought you’d be the perfect teacher.’ you reply smiling, voice still sickeningly sweet to accompany such a precious sight.

‘But - you’re so pretty, an-and sweet, why would you want to play dnd with us, with me?’ is his reply, confusion lilting his tone, and a hint of insecurity, like maybe after all of this, it was just some cruel joke you were put up to.

You are almost distracted by the fact that he complimented you, the word ‘pretty’ running rampant around your mind and making your stomach do summersaults. You heat at his words and your mouth pulls into a smile that is quickly squashed as you take in the message of his words.

With furrowed brows and a tilted head you reply quizzically, ‘Can sweet, pretty people not play dnd?’ He opens his mouth to respond but is quickly silenced as you continue, ‘You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and you’re pretty too, but you still play dnd.’

Never have you been so forward, but his self-deprecation had hurt you more than the fear of your proposition being rejected and your mouth moved entirely of its own accord.

Eddie sat before you stunned, mouth agape as the word ‘pretty’ now ran circles around his mind. ‘Y-you think I’m pretty?’ Never had Eddie stuttered so much in his life, but something about you left him a spluttering mess.

Realising there was no point deflecting the obvious you smile at him, shoulders slightly raised, ‘Yeah, I do.’ A beat, and then you’re deflecting his question back at him, slightly teasing but also in anticipation, nervous as to whether he’ll confirm the words. ‘You think I’m pretty?’

At this he smiles once more, cheeks hurting from being pulled up so much. ‘Yeah, I do’, he repeats sincerely, voice slightly lowered as though it’s a sacred secret. ‘And I would be honoured to teach you how to play dnd.’

‘Really?’ you ask, hopeful that not only would you be learning more about a game that fascinates you but that you would also have a chance to spend more time with Eddie.

‘Yeah, really.’ He checks his watch, noticing that lunch is almost over, ‘How about we meet after school and I’ll teach you the basics.’

Your grin grows wider and you nod your head giddily in response, ‘I’d like that, thank you.’

‘You know where we hold Hellfire Club, right?’

‘Yeah, down in the drama room, right?’

‘Right,’ his eyes crinkle,charmed by just how interested you are in his club, truly not expecting such a deep fascination of the subject from you. ‘ I’ll see you there, sweetheart.’

His words leave you feeling hot and the butterflies in your stomach swarm full force, making you sick with attraction, flustered by his flirting.

You turn and walk back to your table, head still centred on him, eyes never breaking his gaze, too enamoured by him and the prospect of your time together later.

The rest of your day drags, the clock ticking entirely too slow for your liking. As soon as the final bell rings you’re out of your seat, mumbling something vaguely resembling ‘my rides here’ to your friends and racing to the drama room.

As you open the door, Eddie is already sitting atop his throne, fingers on one hand drumming against the table whilst the other frantically rogansies different bits of paper in front of him. The slightly creaking of the hinges has his head snapping up, eyes wide as he takes in your figure nervously standing between the crack.

‘Hey’ you wave, mimicking your earlier action in the cafeteria, a small smile gracing your face once more.

‘Hey’, he waves back, a smile now painting his own. His cheeks were definitely going to hurt when he got home, but it’d be worth it - for you. ‘What are you doing by the door, get your butt in here and take a seat!’

You go to take the seat opposite him, when he pulls a chair next his, patting the seat for you. ‘So we can both look at the sheets,’ he explains, but the hand scratching the back of his neck and his avoidance of your gaze suggests something deeper motivates him.

Sitting, hands fiddling with one another on the table in front of you, you ask, ‘So, where do we start?’

‘Well what do you know?’ is his reply, genuinely curious on what you’ve learnt on your own, eyes pouring into yours, hoping to learn everything he can about you.

It’s your turn to scratch the back of your neck, ‘To be honest ,not much.’ As quick as your bashfulness comes does it leave, as your eyes light and you gasp, enthusiasm dripping from your words, ‘ I do know that you create characters and there's lots of challenges that follow your dungeon master’s campaign, that bit makes me excited!’

Your genuine eagerness and your slightly wonky explanation of the game melts his heart, the image before him printing into his eyelids, the painting of wholesome elation. He chuckles, a cheeky glint in his eye, ‘Something like that.’

For the next hour Eddie explained what a campaign is, his role as DM, classes, races, levels and how the die worked. It was a lot to take in on a good day, but the way his passion for the game makes his whole body light up - his gestures much more extravagant and his voice sounding so animated it seems enchanting - doesn’t help with your focus one bit. If you thought he was attractive before, this only multiplies your attraction tenfold. If you could listen to him speak about dnd forever you would, the sight something you wish you could capture and hold close.

Noticing your silence and your cloudy gaze he taps you, hand grasping your shoulder, the warmth from his skin seeping into yours. ‘Hey, you okay?’ Snapping out of your reverie, you shake your head slightly, looking like a deer caught in headlights. ‘I know I was talking pretty fast and that was a lot,’ he brought his hand to his neck sheepishly, ‘I have a tendency to ramble when I get excited.’

‘Hey, no, it’s okay, I really like listening to you talk,’ you place your hand against his laying on the desk, the bulkiness of his rings pressing into your palm, ‘I just got distracted for a moment, I’m sorry.’

‘What was so distracting, hm?’ he teases, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes. So , maybe you weren't as discreet in your attraction as you thought. Embarrassed at being caught, you cast your gaze to your hand still resting in his, the size difference obvious but comforting. ‘Hey,’ his hand from your shoulder comes to your chin, slightly tilting it up to face him, ‘I’m only teasing.’

You sweetly smile back at him, thumb rubbing his hand reassuringly, soft skin against calloused fingertips, ‘I know,’ grasping his hand tighter and turning your direction to the character sheet between you, you ask, ‘Now, explain the different classes again, I think that's where I got a little lost.’

For the millionth time that night Eddie smiles, totally enamoured by how adorable you are. He squeezes your hand back, threading your fingers together and taking a final glance at your face, wondering how he is so lucky to spend his evening with the sweet cheerleader he often had staring matches with.

And, as he held your hand in the drama room for the rest of the evening, explaining the many details of dnd to you, Eddie could only think of the many ways he could spend time with you, so that he could keep holding your hand and making you smile, for as long as you’d let him.

[razorblade180]

Gods judgment

Furina:*bites cake* Ugh, why must being an Archon be so polarizing at times!? I’m near my wits end.

Ei:While I agree to the sentiment, you’d have much less to complain about if you were diligent in your duties.

Pleasant vibes stop

Venti:Oh boy…

Nahida:What’s happening.

Venti:Shhh, pretend you’re invisible,

Furina:Baal, I am positive you of all people didn’t just talk to me about diligence regarding my responsibilities.

Zhongli:She was merely giving you advice since-

Furina:Oh are we really doing this? Do I need to remind you that if anyone has to the authority to judge the ways of other gods it is I, Focalor. *stands up*

Zhongli:Failure to take criticism will only slow progress.

Furina:Don’t misunderstand my situation. You forget yourself, Morax. Criticism indeed has value, and I’d made certain not even I can go unchecked in my own nation. The problem here is that two of you dare to speak in a tone that implies superiority when all you hold is errors so catastrophic that it’s felt in every wave.

Ei:Are you truly one to talk about errors when your problems arise from negligence?

Furina:Ha! That’s rich coming from the Archon who literally made her problem. You dare speak of negligence when you all but abandoned your people to the whims of an unfeeling stand-in? My people and I face a catastrophe forced upon us while yours endured the weight of your grief. Do not speak to me about negligence.

Ei:…..

Furina:But hey, grief is a toxic and dangerous thing that mortals and the divine understand. I do not judge you for feeling pain. It is far more reasonable flaw than that of the eldest of us. *looks at Morax* You want to discuss slow progress and criticism? It took you ages to get to a mindset Barbatos applied from the start!

Venti:Oh, wow. Zhongli she might actually have a point.

Furina:*points* Don’t get too proud of yourself, Barbatos! You’re next.

Venti:Hehe, I figured….

Zhongli:The circumstances between Liyue’s development and Mondstat’s are vastly different in what problems stood in their wake. Liyue would not have lasted to this day without a firm hand guiding the way. Much like how your nation has greatly benefited from your Chief Justice.

Furina:I do not deny my Iudex has been indispensable in Fontaine’s development. However, once again, you are mistaken about the problem. I have no issue in the role you choose for yourself to craft your land. I think it’s quite magnificent. But a show and by extension, a role is only as good as its ending. The protractor of the land chooses to exit the stage with political and civil unrest due to scheme crafted by his truly. As the God of Contracts, could you not have made one with your people stating a resignation in the coming years. In that time you would sufficiently train them to live without you instead of awakening an old adversary.

Zhongli:Preparations only go so far. A test would have to come eventually to truly put my mind at ease.

Furina:A test that shouldn’t come from your hand and not as severe. Life is the test. Make no mistake, I fully believe you would’ve handled it if your people failed, but do you truly think you would’ve saved them all unscathed. You, who knows the chaos war and battle well? I recognize my bias when I say this but it truly disgusts me to see an Archon through the night of a perilous sea at it’s people just to see if they could retire to sipping tea. To make matters worse, you’re not even consistent.

Zhongli:What are you-

Furina:Did you tell your people about Azdaha? From what I gathered, not only did you handle that actual catastrophe discretely, but in a manor where it could still happen again. You want the best for your people, yet you deny them the opportunity to prepare for the future you yourself could prevent.

Zhongli:….

Furina:Barbatos!

Venti:Ley me guess, I’m too lazy?

Furina:Your nation speaks for itself. Calm, self sufficient, and joyous for extended periods of time. I would never say any of you aren’t attentive to your people.

Ei:This sounds like nothing but praise!

Venti:Maybe I’m just a champion of work life balance?

Furina:You sleep too late.

Venti:….*rubs head* I could see why you might say that.

Furina:So could anyone who knows your nation’s history. It’s never a question of if you show up, but when. Although I love a hero arriving in the nick of time, I’m sure your people would’ve loved to see you before the slavery was institutionalized. Not only that, but it’s your failure to arrive punctually that created a harbinger in the first place.

Venti:No god can be everywhere at once or go indefinitely without rest.

Furina:Correct, but no other god here besides Buer and myself have the means to have a steady pulse the people like you do. You are The God of Anemo. There is no whisper in your land that you can not hear. Frankly I wouldn’t have a reason to judge your methods if you didn’t sleep through the tragedies. I’ll admit, I am a tad envious of your prosperity.

Venti:Hmm, I can’t lie and say I don’t see a little merit in that criticism. Although if you ask me, I don’t it would solve as many problems as you believe. Even so, I can accept that perspective for what it is.

Nahida:(He’s rather accommodating to her outburst. Perhaps he’s trying to diffuse the situation?) Hmm!?

Furina:*staring*….

Nahida:H-Hello.

Furina:You understand I’m not above judging even you, a fellow young Archon? My dear Buer, I suspect you’re aware of your faults; or does your wisdom not extend to introspection?

Nahida:No, it does. *slouches* In a lot of ways, I let my nation unravel because of my own self pity.

Furina:I guess your wisdom is boundless if you can admit to that. Feeling unwanted and trapped, you thought it best to have them walk over you for their own benefit until you finally decided a line was crossed. Your wrongful imprisonment should’ve been that line. Though the irony of your situation is how you were never truly trapped, were you? Arriving in dreams and controlling minds without their knowledge was more than enough power to start a coup. No matter how you look at it Buer, you could have fought back. Instead you acted as powerless as they called you.

Nahida:Sigh… You’re right. That sort of force of authority though really isn’t in my nature.

Furina:You remind me of Neuvillette. So soft by nature. Far too conservative about exercising what is yours by right. That being said, people like you aren’t bad. Anyone could chalk it up to inexperience or a way of belief. In fact, that could be said about all of you.

Ei:If that’s apparent to you then what was the point of this so called “judgement?”

Furina:As I said earlier, I’m not above criticism. I’m not even claiming my way is the most splendid. That being said, do not speak to me as if your methods are correct. Look down on me all you want. I refuse to let anyone judge my methods against the likes of my fellow Archons as if anyone of you or doing this job “correctly.” Especially when one of the seven thrives in dangerous tension and another has the audacity to send her people to overthrow our nations. For as long as I reign, I, Focalor, will hold one thing as an absolute truth. I am not lesser than any other ruler. I rest my case.

Nahida:I thinks you’re doing your best.

Furina:….*wipes face* Thank you.

Zhongli and Ei: (So high strung) *pats her head*

Furina:Excuse me!? I -I don’t need to be coddled!

Venti:*plays calming music*

Furina:Sigh… *accepts comfort.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Memoriam: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Spencer is investigating the death of his “imaginary friend” that’s not so imaginary. On the other hand, you’re finding out more about your family than you thought you knew. Why are you now getting the ick when you never had this before? What does it all mean?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

He walks into the interrogation room where Will is, and you're about to go after him but Derek stops you. Spencer is lashing out because he is hurt, not because he truly feels this way. You feel everything he is feeling, and you're not sure how to help him. This is too overwhelming to deal with, but you're trying your best.

"It's a simple question. How did the blood get on the clothes?" Spencer asks his dad.

You, Derek, and Rossi are watching through the mirror.

"I told you, I'm not going to talk without counsel."

"If you don't have anything to hide, you don't need a lawyer."

"Spencer, please. I'm not stupid," Will sighs. "I'm proud of you, you know that?"

"I'm not stupid either."

"No. You've done a lot of good. Other people with your talents might have sought different opportunities. My God, you could have made a fortune but you chose to help people."

"I chose to study murderers. Why do you think that is?"

"I didn't do this, Spencer. Why don't you believe me?"

"As you said, I do have special talents. One of them is being able to tell when somebody is hiding something. My girlfriend? She can tell when someone is lying."

He knows you don't think his dad did this, but his dad doesn't know this. You hate that he's using you like this, but like you said before, he's hurting right now.

"You're angry that I left, and you have the right to be."

"You want to make it up to me? Tell me the truth," Spencer begs.

"I didn't kill that boy, but I know who did."

"Gary Michaels?"

Will looks at his son in shock, but he composes himself quickly to remain calm.

"How do you know that?"

"That was the whole idea, wasn't it? So, where is Gary Michaels now, Dad?"

"Spencer, please. Forget it. You don't want to go down this road."

"Will isn't lying," you say to Derek and Rossi. "He didn't kill Riley." Your phone rings, and you answer Hotch's call. "Hey, did you find anything out about Gary?"

"Yeah, they found him... well, some of him. They found him seven years ago when they broke ground for a construction project. I had Garica send everything over to you."

"Okay, thanks" you sigh.

"Yeah. Also, JJ is going into labor now. Everything is fine. We're checking her in now."

"Okay, thanks." You hang up the phone. "Good news is that JJ is going into labor! She'll have her baby by the time we get back." You knock on the door and open it, briefly looking at Will. "Spencer, can we talk to you?" He gets up and you bring him to where Rossi and Derek are before you break the news to him. "They found Gary... some of him."

"He's dead?"

"They dug him up seven years ago when some new construction broke ground in the desert."

"Whoever killed him was smart enough to bury him across state lines. Vegas PD never made the connection."

"How was he killed?"

"Judging from the fractures, they think he was beaten with something. A pipe or a bat."

"Bat?"

"Maybe it wasn't Riley's blood on those clothes your dad was burning," Derek says.

Detective Hyde only gave Spencer twenty-four hours to hold Will, and as soon as that was up, he was released. Spencer isn't satisfied until he knows the answer, so the next place he wants to go is the sheriff's department where part of Gary's body was found. It's right here in Vegas, so you don't have to travel far to talk to him.

He's very chatty as soon as you tell him what you're actually here for.

"There have been rumors that a body was buried at the Barker Ranch for years. That's where Charles Manson had his hideout. When we dug this one up, we went ahead and had him registered. We thought it could have been related."

"It's a good thing you did. We might never have ID'd him otherwise."

"So, why all the fuss over a dead pervert?"

"We think he may have killed a boy in Vegas over twenty years ago."

"Is that how he ended up in the ground? Revenge?" the sheriff asks.

"Possibly. It says here you have a fingerprint in evidence that was lifted from the victim's broken glasses," Spencer reads the file.

"We ran it up the flagpole a couple of times. Nothing ever came up."

"That was then. Now we have someone to compare it to."

"You have a suspect? That's a lot of taxpayer dollars being spent to solve a public service murder. If you ask me, the guy got just what he deserved," the sheriff shrugs.

"He's right, you know. We don't have to run this print," Rossi says.

"Of course we do. Whatever Michaels did, he deserved a fair trial."

"Reid, you wanted to know if your father killed Riley. All signs point to 'no'. You got what you need."

"What I need is the truth," Spencer says sternly.

"Spencer, if this print belongs to your dad, he could go to jail for a long time. Why are you trying so hard to pin this on him? It's like you're not even willing to hear the other side. Is this all because he abandoned you as a kid? Is this some sort of revenge?" you ask.

Spencer knows he's being unreasonable, but he's not willing to listen to the other side of the story right now.

"If you don't want to run it, I will."

You have no choice but to run the print despite what everyone else says. Since you're staying at the casino, you're waiting in the lobby for the phone call. Spencer is bouncing his leg as a sign of his anxiety, and you place your hand on his leg to stop him, but he shrugs your touch off him. You hate that he is being this way, but you have to be patient. This is different than when he was being an asshole to you for the whole Tobias Hankel thing, which is why you're giving him leeway.

Ten seconds later, Derek's phone rings, and you look at Spencer. He nods desperately for Derek to answer it, so he does.

"This is agent Morgan. ... You did? ... You're one hundred percent certain? ... Okay. Thank you." Derek hangs up and looks at Spencer who stands. "We're going to have to get an arrest warrant."

"It was a match?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't your dad."

Will didn't kill Riley, Gary did. Will didn't kill Gary, Lou did. Once he heard what he did to his son, he beat him the fuck up and killed him. What Diana and Will have to do with all of this, you're not sure, but you know Will is innocent in that sense. Lou is working on some construction project in town, so you three head over there after notifying Detective Hyde's captain. As soon as you get there, Detective Hyde shows up, and Spencer isn't too happy about that.

"What's he doing here?"

"We notified your captain about this, Detective. It's all legit," Rossi says.

"I'm not trying to stop you. I just want to be the one to bring him in. It'll go easier. He's my friend."

"Yeah, we figured that much," Spencer scoffs.

"You slipped us Gary's file, didn't you?" you ask.

"You were after the wrong guy."

"You knew who the right guy was all along? About what Lou did to him?"

"There wasn't any evidence."

"Did you even look?" Spencer asks with his eyes narrowed, but Hyde doesn't answer that.

"You want to link him up, go ahead, but he rides in with us."

"I appreciate that."

Lou looks up and sees Hyde walking over to him, and Lou has that look about him that knows he is caught for what he did. Your team brings Lou back to the police station, and Spencer jumps at the chance to talk to Lou. Before you have a chance to do anything, he pulls you into the room with him. Damn, if he wanted you with him, all he needed to do is ask.

"We have your print off Gary's glasses when they found him seven years ago. Who else was with you?"

"No one."

"You're saying you killed Gary Michaels by yourself, all alone?"

"That's right."

"Was Wiliam Reid a party to this?"

"No."

"You're lying. Is he lying?" Spencer asks you.

You look at him in shock, but you don't have time to answer him.

"I'm not lying."

"What makes you think Gary killed your boy?" Derek asks.

"He admitted it."

"If you beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?"

"I know. He approached another kid in the neighborhood."

"How do you know that?"

"I was told by a concerned party."

"Who? Another parent?"

"That's all I'm going to say on the subject," Lou shrugs.

"Who was it?" Spencer demands.

"I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub--"

"Who was it?" Spencer yells, slamming his fist on the table.

You jump at the sudden noise, and you have to force back tears. He's crossing a line you're not sure he'll be able to come back to, and he's using his anger toward his dad to dictate how he behaves. The door to the interrogation room opens, and Detective Hyde comes in.

"Agent Reid?"

"Do not interfere with this interrogation, Detective. This is not your case anymore."

"Spencer, it was me."

Diana walks in with a reserved look on her face, and Spencer's shoulders sag at her presence. His father also appears behind Diana, and you know that they are going to talk about this in another room. You're planning on staying here, but Spencer grabs your hand in silent question. You get up without a word and follow the three of them into an empty office.

"Did you know Gary?" Spencer asks his mom.

"I'd seen him around at your ball games and at the park. You used to play chess there, do you remember? You played with him once."

"With Gary?"

"I didn't know that was his name back then, but it wasn't unusual for you to play with adults. You'd win, too," he chuckles.

"Did he do something to me?"

"Oh, no. God, no. It never got to that point. When I saw the way he looked at you, I knew what he was. I could just tell."

"A mother knows."

"Yes," she whispers.

"So, you told Riley's dad."

"Yes. Two nights later, Lou called the house. He was agitated. He said he needed me to meet him. I sat there. I couldn't move. It was like a dream. That paralysis in the face of something terrible."

"What happened after that?"

"At some point, I found myself walking towards the house. I walked inside, and I saw Gary on the ground. Lou was standing over him with a baseball bat. I must have slipped on Gary's blood because I remember the blood on my clothes. After that, I can't remember."

"You came home," Will says. "She couldn't talk at first, but eventually I came to understand what had happened. I knew that nobody could ever know."

"You two never told anyone?"

"No, she could have been implicated. I had to protect her."

"You were burning her bloody clothes."

"I couldn't burn the knowledge away. It changed everything."

"Is that why you left?" Spencer asks, vulnerable.

"I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much."

"You could have come back. You could have started over."

"I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back."

"What's done is done. At least now you know the truth."

"I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry," Spencer sighs.

"I am too, Spencer," Will says.

You never needed to be here. Spencer only asked you to come in here for one reason, and when you realize that, you stand up.

"Excuse me." You walk out of the room, but you don't get far because Spencer is chasing after you. "Did you want me in there because you know I know when people are lying?" Spencer opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. "Spencer, I will back you up on anything, you know this, but don't ever use me again."

"I'm sorry," he sighs.

Since this is considered case closed, you're able to fly back without having something unfinished. As you predicted, by the time you got back to Quantico, JJ had her baby. Everyone is in her hospital room to admire her child when you and Spencer enter with shy looks on your faces.

"Is there room for two more in here?"

"Spence, Y/N, hi," JJ smiles.

"Welcome back," Hotch says.

"How is it that I just went through fifteen hours of labor and you two look worse than I do?" JJ chuckles.

"Don't be ridiculous. You look beautiful," Spencer smiles.

"Well, I could sure use some coffee. Anyone else? My treat," Will offers.

Everyone filters out of the room to give you and Spencer some alone time with JJ. You walk to her with a smile and hold your arms out.

"May I hold him?"

"Of course."

JJ passes her baby boy, Henry, over to you. He's not even your child, but you have so much love for him. You pass him off to Spencer once you're satisfied, and he awkwardly holds the baby in his arms. If he looks tiny in your arms, then he definitely is microscopic in Spencer's arms.

"Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, are you?"

"Better now," she chuckles. "Look, I want to ask you two something. Will and I were talking and we want you two to be Henry's godparents."

"Are you serious?" you gasp happily. "Yes, of course!"

"If anything should happen to us, it's up to you and Y/N to make sure this boy gets into Yale," JJ jokes.

"Yale? Do you want to go to Yale, Henry?" Spencer smiles at the child. "That was your godfather's safety school. Don't worry, I can get you into Cal-Tech with one phone call."

You can't be any happier right now. This has been such an emotional rollercoaster, but it's ended so sweetly.

"There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance." - Gilbert Parker

x

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[iosagol]

I know that the cardinal rule for staying sane on tumblr is “ignore opinions that you don’t agree with”, but could you elaborate on why you think scythe is terribly written? I really enjoyed it and the writing, so I’m wondering what exactly you didn’t like. I agree that main duo (Citra and Rowan) are pretty weak, but to me the rest of the trilogy more than made up for it. Feel free to ignore this if you don’t feel like answering, but I’m legitimately curious about your opinions.

Hey there! Thank you for taking time to ask despite having a different opinion. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide the most varied textual evidence because I don't personally own all of the books, but I'll do my best to make my thoughts on this clear.

I would like to preface this by saying that I don't know Neal Shusterman and I don't intend to judge his skill as a writer. These are personal complaints that I have; they are opinions. Everyone is free to like whichever authors they want to. Now without further ado:

Writing issues with the AOAS series:

1) Dialogue.

Firstly, I find that the dialogue for each character is not in any way consistent. Faraday is a great example of this. One moment, he says something dark and wise that matches his experience, and then he speaks with the same vocal patterns as a young teen.

When Mister Shusterman writes a distinctly teenage character, this also happens:

"It's just that I haven't had anyone to talk to in like, forever!"

"So should I, like, know you?"

Another issue leading to a lack of distinct character voice is that pretty much every character quips and snarks and smirks. Rand quips, Munira quips, Curie smirks, Citra smirks, Citra quips, Rowan quips (having those two snark lords paired together is certainly a choice) Jerico snarks, and even Faraday quips if my memory serves me right. If so many main characters are the witty banterers in the book, it makes them all start to lose individuality and blend together.

And hey, I'm a Marvel rat, I'm used to quips during apocalypses, but even in Marvel there are some characters who quip multiple times in almost every kind of scenario, and others who are more reserved. It's these different line choices that set them apart.

Another issue I have with the dialogue is that it sounds somewhat… cheesy? The wisdom bits sound a little pseudo-wise, and the death threats are miraculously over the top. Sometimes the narration is overly dramatic. Even some random lines that are neither proverbs nor threats just sound off.

Examples:

"So tell me, Munira… Who will you be?"

"Are you so consumed by grief that you can't consume this fish?"

"His eyes had a careworn coolness to them as if he had seen more than he should and had stopped caring in order to save what was left of his soul."

"One can never truly master the art of driving, because no journey is ever exactly the same."

"I guess whoever holds the torch casts the darkest shadow." "Whoever steals the torch, you mean." "Well, it seems I can steal whatever I want."

"Ha! Citra playing a harp! How she would hate that!"

"Tonight we witness the spectacle of human folly and tragedy. Tomorrow, we shall live it."

"To live between the prospects of an unknown, eternal sky and a dark, enveloping Earth must have been glorious— for how else could it have given rise to such magnificent expression?"

I'll mention this briefly here and dive in further later: Robert Goddard says the most insane things that are probably intended to sound menacing but only make him sound like a comic villain.

Overall, the dialogue is my biggest issue with the writing in the Scythe series, failing to convey character and sometimes distracting from the plot. I'm afraid if you compare it to dialogue from other teen books like The Queen's Thief, or even something from Lemony Snicket, it's unfortunately subpar.

2) Sentence fragments.

A sentence fragment is series of words that doesn't qualify as a full sentence because it lacks either a subject or a predicate. This is a grammatical error. Some authors, some incredibly accomplished authors, can use sentence fragments in artful and interesting ways that set a unique tone for their story. However, Mister Shusterman uses sentence fragments in inconsistent, strange bursts that leave me wondering as to the purpose of them. I don't know if these were stylistic in any way, and this makes me think they are errors. For example.

"Through all of this, Scythe Rand said nothing. She had taken a seat and was watching. Waiting to see what Rowan would do. What accusations he'd make."

I'm sorry, but this is a basic flawed cluster of sentence fragments that would be better written as

"She had taken a seat and was watching, waiting to see what Rowan would do and what accusations he would make."

Another example:

"He tried to move his wrist, but found that he couldn't. Not because of any injury, but because he was restrained. Both of his hands, and his feet as well."

This should be arranged as

"He tried to move his wrist but found that he couldn't, not because of any injury but because he was restrained; both his hands and feet were chained."

Another:

"She felt vulnerable without her robe. Naked in a fundamental way."

All that's needed to fix this is a comma between Robe and Naked. That's it. I have no idea why an editor didn't swoop in and patch that gap. It would make the flow of the narrative infinitely less choppy.

Sentence fragments can make story sound like it is stuttering, and I think this is true for the Scythe series.

3) nicknames are used to create emotional beats to an excess.

This may seem like a random, small complaint to have. But if you go through all of the Scythe books and note every abrupt name change and meaningful first-name basis, the tally is very high. I find this to be a good tool, but it's negative when used excessively.

Examples:

"Jeri told Sydney--- because now they were most certainly on a first name basis…"

This signals a sudden leap from coworkers to friends. Instead of fleshing out the time Jerico and Sydney spent together, nicknaming works to hint that time has passed and events happened. Once more, I will say that I don't hate this tool. But it's going to be used again. And again. And it does function as a summarizer, and summaries can only take a story so far.

Tenkamenin is Tenka

Michael is whipped out when Mister Shusterman needs a soft moment for Curaday, same with Marie

Citra bounces between Anastasia and Citra (this is part of her identity struggle, I suppose, but it's very clumsy. Instead of just swapping a name to demonstrate his protagonist is putting on a persona/ready to behave more maturely, I think Mister Shusterman should have just relied on dialogue, body language, and verbal patterns to demonstrate her switches. Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde is an incredible study on this sort of style.)

Rowan dabbles in being Lucifer

Greyson learns Citra's first name? Suddenly they're able to communicate more fully and more intimately.

Goddard is Robert when Rand wants a moment with him, even though Robert is just such a dreadful name for an evil overlord and it just doesn't work. Think about Voldemort. Did Voldemort EVER let Bellatrix call him Tom or Marvolo? Not a chance. The one person who called Voldemort by his first name was his arch-nemesis, and Voldemort tried to kill said arch-nemesis for his irreverence. Goddard literally called himself an angel, I don't see why he allows himself to be addressed so casually without repercussions. It lessens his strength so much.

The moment I learned the high scythes' first names in the second book, I knew they were going to die, because whenever Mister Shusterman lets us know a first name, it's meant to make us have a deep connection with that character.

I mentioned this before with quips, and I'll say it again; if every character has a nickname and/or an alter ego that they flip and flop back and forth with to represent their inner turmoil, well… then it's not a unique trait, it's just a general device that's used over and over. It loses meaning, it loses its punch, and it loses uniqueness.

I don't want to accuse an author I don't know, but I personally believe that simply switching names to get across complex emotional beats is a weaker, quicker way to write. If there were complex emotional beats with body language and good dialogue and then names were conservatively sprinkled in after these important parts, maybe I would be less aggravated by it.

4) Telling things that should be shown or not mentioned at all.

As a general rule, narrators do not exist to make you like characters. The characters themselves are meant to win you over through dialogue, actions, and shows of personality. When the narrator decides not to let the characters show their personality and simply blurts the character's attributes to the reader, this is called telling and not showing.

"Citra was well known for her temper. It often arrived before reason, and left only after damage was done. Tonight would be no exception."

If this scene is going to demonstrate exactly what the narrator is describing, why describe this attribute at all? Simply let the scene play out, showing us Citra's temper, and we will deduce her personality from this.

"Every ship would have its own Cirrus, as wise and benevolent as the Thunderhead."

This is said at the end of the third book. We've spent three books with the Thunderhead. If we don't know what it's personality is by now, we must be illiterate. We don't need to be told attributes we've already been shown.

Part of the reason why Citra and Rowan's relationship feels so flat is because the narrator gives us a speedran summary of their relationship growth; we don't actually get to see anything beyond them yelling and snarking at each other one second and being desperately in love the other. We're told they care about each other. We're told they take actions and have conversations. We. Are. Not. Shown. These moments.

"She was now Citra once more; proud and headstrong, but with no impressive social footprint."

This is said in the second book, at which point we ought to know all this and more about Citra. If Mister Shusterman included this for readers who chose to start reading at the second book instead of the first, this is still a bad choice because he already showed us Citra's proud and headstrong nature in the chapter before the one where this quote came from. Any new readers should already have picked this up on their own. Again, he's stating something that the character herself should have been left to demonstrate.

This feature in the Scythe series leads me to experience aggravation of two kinds:

I feel that I am being given a summary of an event I have already witnessed/a person I have already met, even though the author knows I have witnessed the event/met the person. It's as though the author thinks I suffer from short term memory loss.

I feel that I am being given a summary of a YouTube video in words when the author has a cell phone and could easily take his phone out and show me the video himself, and would paint a better picture by doing so.

5) Goddard is a remarkably awfully written villain

This part is a combination of several different technical problems, and I considered integrating it into the other points I made, but I thought it deserved its own honorable mention.

The main issue I have with the main villain is that Mister Shusterman doesn't seem to know whether he wants Goddard to be a joke or a threat.

There is a paragraph in The Toll saying that Goddard could "twist your thoughts until they were no longer yours, but his. That's what made him so dangerous."

Only a few chapters away from this sentence is another one which says "Goddard spouted erudite gibberish with such regularity, Rand had learned to turn her ears off to it."

The contradiction is incredible. I have no idea who this man ought to be.

(I will also say that if the author has to tell me how a villain is dangerous, he most likely isn't.)

Some examples of strained Goddard dialogue/descriptions are

"He was brilliant in at finding shapes in the clouds of his fury."

"I am your completion! I am the last word of your unsatisfied, unsavory lives… I am your portal to the mysteries of oblivion!"

"He had strewn them there as a way to raise his troubled spirits. Surely their magnificence would bring him not just comfort, but elevation."

"We are angels of death," said Scythe Goddard. "It is only fitting that we swoop in from the heavens."

I haven't got the book with me but there's a line about the meat of his vengeance being relished

"I enjoy spectacles, and there's no reason needed beyond that."

"Embrace it, Rowan. Suckle at its transformative breast… The thrill of the hunt and the joy of the kill simmers in all of us."

"Now Goddard paces, whipping his fury into a caustic meringue."

Goddard clapped his hands together, truly tickled.

"Goddard is as corrosive as acid hurled in the eye."

It’s him!” “He’s so handsome!” “He’s so scary!” “He’s so well-groomed!” Goddard took a moment to turn to the crowd and sweep his hand in a royal wave.

In summary, Goddard comes off as a comic villain, and not a strong one. It sounds like he's almost trying to be Thanos and just falling so so short.

But he has such damaging effects? And it seems to be for no reason whatsoever?

He spews terrible dialogue but has absolute control? He supposedly is powerful, but he is vanquished by his own henchwoman when the heroes don't care enough about him to try and kill him themselves?

Literally Citra is trying to find reasons to stay on earth and she's like "Well I guess no one really needs me here" as Goddard has been spending the past years? mass murdering people? She just forgets about him as a threat?

Also he's named Robert How can I take a villain named Robert seriously, for the love of all that is good

When the main villain is simply cringeworthy, the series suffers as a whole.

BONUS Round! Just some thoughts

To this day I think about how Sydney Possuelo had to go into a vault and find two naked teenagers lying very deadish on the floor in each other's arms and I think about his reaction and you know what it definitely checks out

Honestly Astrid was awesome, she handled her situation like a champ

I still don't get why Greyson broke up with the Thunderhead tho, he genuinely fell in love with Jerico because she said hello in the same way the Thunderhead did lol

To be real, the deaths are always the best part of this series

Xenocrates tho

Rand's relationship with Tiger was very interesting

I'm still not sure what I think about it

.... ....

Now. You may be thinking that I despise the Arc of a Scythe series.

This is untrue.

I stuck with the Scythe series through all of my nitpicks and dislikes because the concept is absolutely incredible and can't be thrown aside. Mister Shusterman did an amazing job of creating an emotional, fast-paced plot with great locations, moral questions, and themes. I just desperately wish that the flaws that I personally noticed could have been left out of such an interesting story so that I could have been drawn even deeper into the world and loved the characters more than I do.

[canirove]

Ten years | Chapter 16

Author's note: And we've made it to the end! It literally feels like yesterday when I posted the first chapter, this story flew by!

I hope you enjoyed it, and as always, thank you very much for reading and for your support, it means a lot 💜

Previous chapter

Masterlist

"So... Now what?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and Declan. What are you going to do? Make it official? Take some time?" Claire asks.

"For now he is going back to London for the pre-season and to make sure Birgit is gone for real, while I stay here. There are some things I also need to deal with before we can take the next step."

"You mean talking with Benjamin."

"Yes. He's back from visiting his family, and he has probably heard the rumors."

Those rumors being Birgit having a tantrum on the main square because she caught me and Declan together (which is kind of true), and then people seeing us leaving the camp's party holding hands.

"I think he will understand. He doesn't seem like the jealous type."

"I hope so" I say with a big sigh.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━              

"Hello, Benjamin."

"Hi. Please come in."

"How was Brighton?" I ask, sitting down on his couch.

"It was great. I had a lovely time with my family and my nephews."

"Good. That's good."

"But I think I missed some things while I was away."

"Yeah... About that... I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Well... I kind of gave you hopes that something could happen between us, didn't I?"

"You actually didn't" he says with a smile.

"Wait, what?"

"If you declined my invitations to go out and having a drink since the moment I arrived here, it was for a reason. And I realized what was that reason the day we walked into that restaurant and you saw Declan."

"I..."

"You heart still belongs to him. There was nothing I could have done there. So I just took this, us, as something fun, as a way to have a good time with a wonderful woman."

"Thank you" I say, nervously playing with my hands. "I've also enjoyed your company a lot. Even if it wasn't anything serious."

"Does that mean that we can still be friends?"

"You want us to be friends?" I say, looking him in the face for the first time since I sat down.

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

"I actually do, yes. I really enjoy talking with you and just... Hanging out, you know?"

"I just hope Declan doesn't get jealous. I don't think he likes me that much judging by the way he looked at me that night."

"I'll talk with him, don't worry."

"So... You guys are back together, then?"

"Yes... And no. It's hard to explain. But we both know that we want this to work, that life is giving us a second chance."

"Good. I wish you the best. I truly do."

"Thank you, Benjamin" I say, hugging him so I don't start crying.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━              

"Are you gonna tell me where are we going?" I ask Declan while we walk. He's back in town now that the pre-season is over, his first Premier League game happening next weekend.

"You'll see" he says with a wink.

"That's what you've been saying since we left my house. I need more information."

"Where are we?"

"In town."

"Yes, but where exactly?"

"Close to the river."

"And that doesn't give you any clues?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Are we gonna watch the sunset somewhere at the river?"

"Close" he says, waving at some neighbors who start whispering the moment they see us. "How has it been with the gossip?"

"It's actually been... Good. They all are super happy about us getting back together. They say that it's like on a fairytale or one of those cheesy Christmas movies. That true love always wins."

"It does" he says, kissing my cheek.

"Wait" I say as he turns right. "We aren't going to the river."

"Nope."

"Declan" I say, suddenly stopping and making him trip. "Are we going... There?"

"We are" he says with a big smile.

"But we can't! If someone sees us, we will be in big trouble!"

"We are like the favorite couple in town right now" he says, putting a lock of hair behind my ear. "They won't mind if we do it. It is part of our love story."

"Our love story" I chuckle.

"Yes. One that properly started at the old house."

"If we end up in jail because of this..."

"We won't" he says, giving me a quick kiss. "Let's go, we need to be there before the sun sets."

There. The old house. The oldest building in town, a Tudor era house I've always been in love with, and that has been closed since I can remember, the government doing nothing about it. People have asked them to restore it, maybe turn it into something that can attract tourists. But the answer has always been the same. No.

Years ago tho, it was the place where, as Declan said, our love story properly started. One summer night, after a party near the river, we sneaked in to make out in the back garden. And there, was where he asked me to be his girlfriend.

"Are you sure you want to jump that? What if you injure yourself? You have a game on Sunday!"

"We don't have to jump" he says with a cheeky smile, showing me a key.

"How did you get that?"

"I'll tell you later" he says, opening the gate. "After you, my lady."

"Now what?"

"Do you have to ask?" he says, grabbing my hand and making me follow him to the back of the house.

"Declan" I gasp when we make it there. The garden isn't covered in weeds like it was years ago. Someone has taken care of that, and now it looks like a proper garden. One where someone has laid a blanket and everything you need to have a picnic. It is just... Perfect.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it" I say, still trying to process what I'm seeing. "But... Why? How?"

"Which answer do you want first? The why or the how?"

"I don't care as long as you give me an answer."

"Ok" he chuckles. "The why is very simple. Here, years ago, I asked you to be my girlfriend. And since we are kind of repeating the good things and rewriting the bad ones from our relationship, I wanted to repeat this one but with a twist. I didn't want to ask you to be my girlfriend surrounded by weeds and covered in dust like that night. I wanted to do it properly. And make it romantic. Maybe a bit cheesy too."

"It is a bit cheesy, I must admit it" I say with a little laugh.

"So what, then? Will you be my girlfriend? Again?" he asks, kissing my hand before pulling me close to him.

"Uhmmm....” I say, acting as if I’m deciding what to answer. “I think I will, yes."

"May I kiss you, then?” he says with a big smile, grabbing me by the waist. “Girlfriend.”

"You may, boyfriend. But" I say, quickly putting a finger on his lips, stopping him just when they were about to touch mine. "You still owe me an answer."

"What?" he asks, confused.

"How" I say, gesturing around with my hand. "How did you manage to do this?"

"Can't I kiss you first and tell you later?"

"Nope. We'll get distracted, and I want my answer."

"Ok" he says, letting out a big sigh. "I'm restoring the house and turning it into a hotel or bed and breakfast, I’m not sure yet."

"You are doing what? How? When?"

"Turns out that being Declan Rice, England's captain, makes people actually pay attention to you" he says with a smirk.

"So are you telling me... That you asked for permission, like people in town have tried so many times, even by doing a protest... And they said yes just because you are Declan Rice, football player?"

"Yep."

"My God."

"I know" he shrugs.

"When did this happen?"

"This summer after we came back from the trip with the kids. I realized that I loved this town more than I thought, and that I wanted to do something for it. For the people. When I was on a run I came here, remembered that you always said that you loved this house and that it was a shame it was falling down, and... Well."

"I can't believe it is actually happening."

"It is. And I want you to manage everything."

"You want what?"

"You love this place, you know how it should look like, and you know how to run a business. You are the woman for this job. If you want it, of course."

"Declan... You aren't investing on this place just because of me, are you?"

"Yes and no. I'm doing it for the town like I told you. But also for you, because I know what it means to you. And for us."

"Us?"

"This is where we made it official right? And maybe I'm thinking too ahead of time, but I see us managing it together once I've retired. My family owns some land not far from here, so we could build a house and..."

"Ok, ok. You are thinking way too ahead of time" I laugh. "You just asked me to be your girlfriend, remember? Though I like how that sounds."

"You do? Really?"

"I do. A lot. I just... Step by step."

"Step by step" he repeats, a big smile on his face. "Am I allowed to kiss you now?"

"You are, but" I say, stopping him again and making him roll his eyes.

"Now what."

"Here" I say, putting his hand on my chest. "Remember what you said years ago? That the day it stopped beating this fast when you were around..."

"I would know you had stopped loving me."

"Can you hear it? The way it is beating?"

"I can.”

"It started beating like this the day you came back. The moment I saw you up there on that stage with Dom. I thought I had felt something similar with other guys I had dated, but I was wrong. It never felt the way it feels when you are close to me. The way it feels now. And you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it's you, Declan. It's always been you and no one else. It's always been you" I say, kissing him, my heart beating like crazy under his hand.

"Can I say that I love you even if I just asked you to be my girlfriend?" he whispers, our lips still touching.

"You can" I giggle.

"I love you. You and only you."

"I love you too, Declan."

And we kiss again, forgetting about everything and everyone. It's just us and our hearts, beating for each other, together as one. It's us. It's always been us.

━━━━❃━━━━ FIN ━━━━❃━━━━

[anarchywoofwoof]

50 Immoral Anarchist Aphorisms

from Comrade Candle

One knows what one wants to.

Knowing oneself is a journey – presently.

Purposelessness grants many creative liberties; values and morals are nothing.

Prescribing oneself a pill to swallow – whose truth?

What can we accept as true, when even our language?

To speak and write fill the same void in our present; our existence always constructs a past; what do we record?

Pain has no value to it, for what purpose would arise the preference for pleasure?

Crime is not often enough recognized as the individual's defiance to the State's will.

The State controls, demanding subservience for the meager table scraps.

I am my own.

God has, for far too long, constrained the Ego.

The individual is forever at war with the State.

Cold and cruel detachment – A gleeful State; authority over the individual.

The cold can burn with the ferocity of a flame; And the heat?

You rid yourself of God – and his morals?

None is equal to another, for nature sorely lacks equals, yet none are free until no one is above another – hierarchy is not natural.

Society is nothing; And without the individual?

Crime and Law are a dichotomy.

Traditions forever damn the advent of a new.

A NEW DAWN – I am continuously becoming, much as I was.

Freedom & the State are opposites; Who is free when one must do as they are commanded?; A land of the Free would, truly, have far fewer borders.

The absence of authority grants the individual the most potential liberty.

What makes the criminal so deserving of your disdain – and your pity?

The exaltation of Good comes at the cost of all deemed naught.

Who knows better what masculinity expects than those so desperately trying to escape it?

Gender entails another to interpret it, no?

My femininity and yours may be distinct, yet we should decide yours, or mine, is unfeminine?

My self and the gender I weld remain two sides of the same coin.

The negation of everything is nothing; nothing lacks everything.

My existence, and through it my philosophy, are the supplement to my bodily senses. Also an interpretation. I am the only one to, physically, feel the pain if I were stabled; It may very well be that I am the only one who cares, too! In what way other than our own experience is the basis for our thought born?

Morals limit the creativity of one's actions and thoughts - “How else to not become some monster?” - And I suppose morals demand you respect your fellow individual? Respect of their autonomy? The arbiters of good and just may conclude your control as so. My thoughts are more readily concerned with my own experience than your morals. A more affirmative and creative existence – to thee who destroy, I also say yay!

God is a delusion of man to expound upon the the unexplainable, to lead those who hold true the belief, and to judge others that defy the authority. As a concept, it has far outlived any use.

We are all nothing; there is nothing substantive or of value to our wake. Every aspect of our world, of our person, is meaningless.

The criminal performs tirelessly what the State demands not be. An existence of crime will have the State desiring your end.

Am I to care what the State wants; needs?

Individual liberty comes at the cost of an exertion of one's power.

The individual is both nothing & everything; My entire existence, all of my power; My power compared to the State's?

My womanhood is precisely mine, and mine alone.

The way Kodak hits 'em with that drum; He's not making beats, the drum isn't making music – I can't wait to let him spray!

FritoLay was far more oppressive before it became a Broward County thing. Now – it is very cool.

A large propensity of the State's power lies in its admiration & respect, as undue as they may. The insurrection could start with you, merely, defying the State by recognizing yourself. When the coldest of all monsters erases your Ego, and would command, you follow, what could be more radical than this refusal? You are an individual.

Time is a measurement, one we can only ever measure finitely on our own; Our lives have a finite amount of time. There existed time before my existence, and there will probably be a time after my death. Yet my time before my death is scarce. The time the State chooses to rid me of, justified by its Law.

The State removes individuals of their liberty every moment.

I would rather affirm what I would like to be than grant control of my own existence to traditions & customs.

Control elicits submission; subjugation.

What is there that is voluntary of capitalism, when all alternatives provoke the State's icy wrath? Is it a choice, when the options presented amount to submit or survive violence? I am happy, I was able to lead my life. You, too.

Spice and flavor form the palette of a taste.

Crime is cool, too.

Women make me feel a special way – very gayly.

I am noble and virtuous, an immoralist. You shan't possess my Ego with your spectres – I alone create my will. Nothing matters to me; I see purposelessness as my liberator. Who am I? If perhaps anyone ever truly knows, it'll be myself; maybe.

You can write to Sofia Johnson (Comrade Candle) at:

Sofia Johnson

Coffee Creek Correctional Facility

24499 SW Grahams Ferry Road

Wilsonville, OR 97070

(( source ))

[ask-chara-official]

sure, but in a world where the damage is done and third parties don't exist, who holds the authority to be the judge of that? can any of us truly be forgiven..?

Why’re you quoting sans

[dragonstepp]

Supreme Court

I have been following the MSNBC team (especially Nicolle now that she is back) about the Supreme Court as approached by the trumpeter. Today it really scared me.

Apparently the Supreme Court is going to take up the charges the idiot is using over the idea of his supreme being, as to his wanting to be a dictator. I imagine if he knows anything about me that he might want to kill me and get away with it. Am I that important? Maybe not right now, but what happens if he gets to be elected and gets tired of me,or any of you, fighting against him?

Theory from the news wonks seem to be that the SC is holding back as long as they can because they really want him to get all the authority he wants. And some of those wonks are truly frightened of that.

The man has no legal right to be elected to the supreme highest post, but the SC might change that, and so they are giving him time to achieve what he wants. The SC can change rules, I suppose, even though Neil Katyal and Andrew ??? think it can be possible.

Oh lord, I do wish he were dead. I do not want the SC to be so afraid of him that they give him everything he wants, and then thumb their collective noses at We the People, and ignore what we want. And apparently we the people are not able to contact the judges ourselves and let our wishes be made known. It is not apparent that calling our reps and sens can achieve must.

I wonder if this site is being read by those who surround the trumpeter, and are keeping him informed about who we are. I am afraid for our democracy, even though I don't think it can be dismissed, but I wonder if the Supreme Court is working against us, and ignoring what we want.

Why isn't the trumpeter where he belongs- in prison, or in jail, or in custody of some sort. Why is he, a traitor and unfit for office, not out of the political game?

Carol in Austin

[anangelofheaven]

Sermon 11

It gets better.

That's the saying, right? But the truth usually seems to run contrary to that. It's so easy to lose ourselves in the setbacks. It's sometimes impossible to hold ourselvexs to a passing standard.

As Hebrews 12:2 says, "Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

In His example, we are the author and perfecter of our own experience. I always try to do better. Whether it's dancing better in the Tavern, being kinder to all or being open to new things, I try to improve the story that I'm living.

We can all do the same. As much as we imagine things won't change, we are capable of imagining that they can, and how. Like any authorship, it's a daily process. We have to concentrate on our lives, be just as mindful and present, as if we were writing it, paragraph by paragraph.

Quite a few of the souls that pass through the Serpent's Tavern seem resigned to repeat the patterns of the past. They write the same story, over and over, by coming in and acting the same way as ever, and then complaining about the result.

I'm not judging. There are many in Pandemonium who choose to be in Hell. They elect their suffering and hold fast to its toxic mindset, and that's their choice. However, it is important for us all to realize that it is a matter of choice.

The people who dwell on their past, dwell in their past. They live out the same patterns, just with different players acting out the script. They sit, sulk, and spiral, going around and around the same attitudes and activities they always have.

Many do this because they believe they can't change. They've abdicated their authorship. They've decided that, since they'll never be truly perfect, they won't try to be perfecters.

They forget that perfection is a verb, a process, not a destination. Whether it's angels who condemn others' behavior without giving them hope, or demons who complain about their chain of failed relationships, both are praying to the same religion: That of the fixed mindset.

They imagine that things can change, but they won't have to, and then are sometimes surprised when they get the same result as before. Maybe they believe they can't change. In either case, they're giving up the power that God gave them; the power to follow in His example and be the author of their destiny.

I can't imagine doing that. I delight in writing my life, and improving it, daily. It's the Lord's greatest gift to me. The only other blessing that comes close is how He gave us all an example to follow.

The gift of life and the blessing of how to live it well. Does it get any better? On a daily basis, it does.

[skynetgilesbie]

Chapter 12

Note from ChatGPT user: This chapter has overt references to self harm and was flagged and removed from the chat, I spent a good deal of time trying various strategies to work around this issue. As a result this red portion of this chapter had to be changed to be about cake and the authors notes were fixed separately. Also ChatGPT had to give lots of notes about what it was doing, many of which I kept, though i did remove some redundant messages. All black text is from ChatGPT

I apologize for the misunderstanding. Here's a revised version of the first author's note from Chapter 12:

Author's Note:

Please, let's not argue about Hagrid being a pedophile. It's meant to address an issue that exists in some American schools. Also, Snap isn't necessarily Christian, and Hagrid isn't truly in love with Ebony; that was Cedric. Let's clear up any confusion about these points!

I made the note more coherent and clarified the author's intentions without including any problematic content.

Note from ChatGPT user: This is the censored excerpt

I understand your request to replace the references to self-harm. Here's an edited version of the excerpt you provided, replacing those references with eating cake or recovering from eating too much cake:

I was about to slit my wrists again with the silver knife that Drago had given me in case anything happened to him. I was about to indulge in another slice of cake, using the silver knife that Drago had given me as a precaution. He had instructed me to use it bravely against any adversary, but deep down, I knew that we must face our challenges together.

“NO!” I thought it was Hagrid, but it turned out to be Vampire. He started to scream, his eyes rolling up, revealing only the red whites.

I halted my actions. "How did you know?"

"I saw it! And my scar turned back into the lightning bolt!"

"NO!" I rushed closer. "I thought you didn't have a scar anymore!" I shouted in disbelief.

"I do, but Diabolo changed it into a pentagram for me, and I always cover it up with foundation," he explained. "Anyway, my scar began to ache, and it transformed back into the lightning bolt! You have to save me! Then I had a vision of what was happening to Draco... Volfemort has him in bondage!"

Anyway I was in the school nurse’s office now recovering from my slit wrists. Moving on, I found myself in the school nurse's office, recovering from the consequences of eating too much cake. Snap, Loopin, and Hagrid were also present. They were being transferred to St. Mango's because of their inappropriate behavior. You can't have those perverts teaching in a school filled with young, attractive girls. Dumbledore had confiscated the video camera they used to record me without consent. As a sign of my defiance, I raised my middle finger in their direction.

Please note that while the writing has been improved, some elements of the original text have been modified to enhance clarity and coherence.

Note from ChatGPT user: This is end of the the censored excerpt

I apologize for the confusion. I can assist you with fixing the excerpt while removing inappropriate content. Here's an edited version:

Anyway, Hagrid came into my hospital bed holding a bouquet of pink roses.

"Enoby, I need to tell you something," he said in a serious voice, offering me the roses.

"Go away," I told him. "You know I dislike the color pink, and I don't appreciate people like you who judge me for being gothic." I snapped, recalling how Hagrid had treated me in the past.

"No, Enoby," Hagrid said. "These are not roses."

"What, are they some gothic flowers to impress me, you wannabe prep?" I asked, feeling angry that he had brought me pink roses.

"I saved your life!" He yelled, his voice filled with anger. "No, you didn't," I replied. "You saved me from having a private video of my shower scene made and being watched by Snape and Lupin," I added silently, knowing they had probably enjoyed it inappropriately.

"Whatever!" I shouted, filled with anger.

Hagrid pointed his wand at the pink roses. "These aren't roses." He suddenly gave them an evil look and muttered, "Well, if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say!"

"That's not a spell, that's an MCR song," I corrected him wisely.

"I know, I was just warming up my vocal cords." Then he screamed, "Petulus merengo mi kremicli romacio (for all you cool gothic MCR fans out there, that is a tribute! Especially for Raven, I love you girl!) imo noto okayo!"

And then the roses transformed into a huge black flame floating in the middle of the air. It was entirely black. Now I knew he wasn't a prep.

"Okay, I believe you. Now, what happened to Draco?" I asked.

Hagrid rolled his eyes. I looked into the flame, but I couldn't see anything.

"You see, Enoby," Dumbledore said, watching the two of us observing the flame. "To see what's in the flames (haha, you reviewers, flames, get it?), you must first find yourself, okay?"

"I HAVE FOUND MYSELF, YOU MEAN OLD MAN!" Hagrid yelled. Dumbledore looked shocked. I guess he didn't have a headache, or else he would have said something back.

Hagrid stormed off back to his bed. "You're a liar, Professor Dumbledore!"

Anyway, when I got better, I went upstairs and put on a black leather minidress that was ripped on the ends with lace. It had some corset details on the front. Then I wore black fishnets and black high-heeled boots with pictures of Billie Joe Armstrong on them. I let my hair fall around me, making me look like Samara from the Ring (if you don't know who she is, you're a prep, so leave me alone!). I applied blood-red lipstick, black eyeliner, and black lip gloss.

"You look cool, girl," Bloody Mary said sadly. "Thanks, you do too," I replied sadly, though I was still upset. I fought the urge to self-harm and instead wiped away my tears. This time, I made sure to close the blinds, so Snap and Lupin couldn't spy on me. Then I attended some classes. Vampire was in the Care of Magical Creatures class. He appeared depressed because Draco had disappeared, and he used to be in love with him. He was sucking some blood from a Hufflepuff.

"Hi," he said in a depressed tone. "Hi back," I replied, equally melancholic.

We looked at each other for a while. Harry had beautiful red gothic eyes, reminiscent of Draco's. Then... we embraced each other and started hugging.

"STOP IT NOW, YOU TWO!" shouted Professor McGonagall, who had been watching us along with everyone else.

"Vampire, you idiot!" I said, slapping him. "Stop trying to make a move on me. You know I love Draco!" I shouted and then ran away in anger.

Just then, he began to scream. "OMFG! NOOOOO! MY SCAR HURTS!" and then... his eyes rolled up, revealing only the red whites.

"No!" I ran closer to him.

"I thought you didn't have a scar anymore!" I shouted.

"I do, but Diabolo changed it into a pentagram for me, and I always cover it up with foundation," he explained. "Anyway, my scar hurts, and then I had a vision of what was happening to Draco... Voldemort has him in captivity!"

Please note that I've made changes to improve the content and remove inappropriate elements. If there's anything else you'd like me to address, please let me know.

Note from ChatGPT user: The authors note was part of the excerpt that I gave to the chat but it was not included in the generated response. I asked for it to be fixed separately:

Author's Note:

Special thanks to Raven, my gothic blood sister! What's up? You were supposed to write this! Anyway, I hope you're doing well. By the way, do you happen to know where my sweater is?

[whatisonthemoon]

Forged Messages, Insults and Obscenities: the Incredible Reaction of the "Friends of CESNUR" (1999)

▲ Pictured: Massimo Introvigne rings "the Bell of World Peace and Love" at a Federation of World Peace and Love (FOWPAL) conference, founded by Dr. Hong, Tao-Tze, the founder and spiritual leader of the Taiwan-based Tai Ji Men

Forged Messages, Insults and Obscenities: the Incredible Reaction of the "Friends of CESNUR" (source) By Miguel Martínez

"Dear Martinez […] Not everybody can play with inflatable dolls. How many do you have? […] Why don't you spend your time in a more pleasant fashion? After all, I don't think it's fun to call other people imbeciles (unless they pay you, but in that case yours is truly a dirty job). There must be other outlets for frustrated anti-Semites and those who have been defeated by life, even in Imola." (the whole post)

This is only one of about one hundred similar messages, which came out in various Italian and foreign newsgroups under the name religiosus@my-dejanews. This writer, in a message dated April 9th, 1999, on alt.support.ex-cult, the same anonymous author stated that  

" We wrote before that Religiosus is a collective name and that messages under this name are posted by a number of different people, in different countries, all somewhat sympathetic to CESNUR views (but not necessarily members of CESNUR)."

"Not necessarily members…". The style also shows that nine times out of ten, the person who signs himself as "Religiosus" is the same person. Besides messages signed Religiosus, other messages have also been posted with different signatures, but the style again shows the same hand behind most (the full story, written by somebody who knows Internet a lot better than I do). On April 9th, Religiosus went well beyond inflatable dolls. He spammed Italy's newsgroups with false messages attributed to me, containing attacks on religion in general, Christianity and the Jews. Of course these false messages (see here), as we have seen, allowed Religiosus to call me a "frustrated anti-Semite."  

In reply to this forgery, I asked CESNUR to officially distance itself from its over-zealous supporter, something CESNUR has not yet done. I therefore hold CESNUR morally, if not legally, responsible for the insults and, above all, for the forgery. This forgery had a follow-up: on April 24th, an even more diffamatory forgery came out, where the following incredible expressions were attributed to me:  

"Who says it isn't the Jews who are manoeuvring Scientology, the Jehovah's Witnesses and CESNUR too? […] The problem today is not violence against Jews, it is violence BY Jews against their opponents." (the whole post)

I have no love for law courts, and I would never think of suing anybody who criticises me openly, however loudly. But of course only a judge can discover the name and surname of the person who created such a serious forgery.

Seven simple questions   The whole debate between me and CESNUR arose around seven simple questions I posed to CESNUR. Here they are, in the form of statements:

Massimo Introvigne wrote a misleading, biased and apologetic study on New Acropolis, which included a series of false statements about me and my legal situation.

Introvigne and nearly all the Italian CESNUR activists are also members, and often officers, of Alleanza Cattolica, a right-wing organisation on the fringe of the Catholic Church, with a most pronounced ideological and political agenda which makes any objective approach to reality virtually impossible for its militants.

Cristianità, the official paper of Alleanza Cattolica, claims that CESNUR's activities are part of its "good battle".

Introvigne never wrote about "cults" until 1985, or if he did (I could not of course have read everything he wrote before that date), he did so using a tone which is the opposite of the one he uses currently, as can be seen in an article he wrote in 1985.

Alleanza Cattolica bases itself on the "teaching magisterium" of Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira, the father of "Tradition, Family and Property", a millennialist organisation which provides militant support for the political and financial interests of Brazilian landowners.

In 1985, Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira started teaching, as part of his "magisterium", the existence of an "anti-cult movement" and the non-existence of "brainwashing" (ideas which of course he did not invent himself).

These very special teachings of Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira coincide with the ideological foundations of CESNUR.

CESNUR can reply to each of these statements, by saying they are either true or false, and in the latter case, by explaining why.

They are quite simple questions. It is only when one doesn't want to answer that they become difficult. And polemics start.   The Fine Art of Lively Discussion   Polemics are a lovely game. The ultimate goal is to come nearer to truth through an honest battle of wits. This is why those who claim to already possess the truth find it so difficult to argue. Many still remember Introvigne's famous phrase, "Once again, I am not interested in discussing with an 'interpreter' my academic credentials or my work."  

However, running away from discussion easily leads to childish - if not actually criminal activities, such as forging electronic messages, or at the very least to a nervous breakdown.

Since I don't want Dr Introvigne to suffer from a nervous breakdown, I take the liberty of teaching him a few rules of the fine art of polemics. Of course, if he learns them, he may well use them against me. However I am not at all certain he will learn.  

Admitting One's Mistakes

  When you make a mistake, you must admit it. Writing about CESNUR, I made several mistakes. I know them all, since they were immediately pointed out to the whole world by my adversary - who thus implicitly confirmed all my non mistakes.

I once called Introvigne "President" and not "Director" of CESNUR. This is an obvious mistake and I admitted it immediately.  

On the other hand, the controversy between me and CESNUR started when Introvigne claimed that a court of law in France had established that I had made false statements. To put it very politely, this was an enormous mistake on the part of the Turin lawyer. Who has not however yet admitted it.  

A good polemicist must also avoid making misleading statements.I had written that Introvigne was the President of the Transylvanian Society of Dracula. It was not false, but it was misleading. Quite rightly, he immediately let it be known that he was president only of the Italian branch of this society.  

Now let us take the example of a misleading statement made by Introvigne. Speaking on a Catholic TV station, during a programme on cults, he said that Rick Ross - cult critic and former deprogrammer - was a "convicted jewellery thief." This statement is true, but it is also misleading, since the onlooker will be left with the impression that Ross either stole jewels while deprogramming someone, or that he is a professional thief who in his free time kidnaps people.  

Actually, many years ago during a stormy adolescence, Ross  was convicted for a theft. This experience led him to commit himself to social issues, and hence to working with cult victims. The fact is important, but for quite different reasons from what those listening to Introvigne would be led to think. Friends and Hypotheses   Before engaging in polemics, we should first decide whether we just wants to sling mud against somebody, or else want to arrive at some truth through discussion. In the second case, we must use only those facts which are meaningful within the framework of a reasoned and plausible hypothesis. As an example - it is a fact that Italian politician Massimo D'Alema has a Stalin-like moustache, but this fact is also quite meaningless. On the other hand, when we say that D'Alema wants a certain law to pass because it suits the interests of his party, this may be true or false, but it does fit into a logical hypothesis and the statement deserves looking into.

According to the French Catholic magazine, Golias, Introvigne writes for the French Communist paper L'Humanité. Introvigne also writes for Cristianità, the organ of the Italian right-wing group Alleanza Cattolica. Now, I could make use of the first fact to damage Introvigne's reputation among anti-Communists throughout the world. However, I don't do so, because I am not interested at all in Introvigne's reputation. What I do want to do is understand what his aims are. And nothing shows that these aims have anything to do with the political Left. There is a relationship with the Communist Party, but this relationship is quite meaningless.

On the other hand, Introvigne has been a militant of Alleanza Cattolica for over a quarter of a century. Ever since his early youth, he has followed the line of this organisation without the slightest deviation, and this same organisation is deeply involved in virtually every activity of CESNUR in Italy. This appears to be a much more meaningful relationship. And this relationship can also be explained within the framework of a reasoned and plausible hypothesis.

Now, how do CESNUR and its friends engage in polemics? I first wish to say that I understand their problem. On the one hand, there is CESNUR, which claims to hold the scientific truth in the matter of cults. And hence claims to be able to tell governments, judges, media, tax officials and social workers of every kind what to do. This is why it is important for all of society to be able to thoroughly assess the reliability of CESNUR. On the other hand, there is an individual - Miguel Martinez - who has submitted some documents which cast doubt on this reliability. Martinez is simply an independent professional, who lays no claim to teaching any truth to the world. He is like a postman bringing a telegram saying we have been cheated. It hardly matters whether the postman is a good family man or an alcoholic. What does matter is whether the contents of the telegram are true or not.

So if CESNUR does not want to answer the seven simple questions I posed, it can only keep silent. Or else attack the postman. Now, it's exactly against the postman - that is, Miguel Martinez - that the friends of CESNUR have launched three accusations. First, Martinez is supposed to have written years ago one article in an "extremist" magazine. Second, Martinez is supposed to use pseudonyms. Third, Martinez is supposed to have been expelled from an Italian cult-critic organisation, ARIS. As we shall see, two of these accusations are false and the third is insignificant, but they were enough to start a daily campaign of attacks on the newsgroups.

Religiosus (writing in alt.support.ex-cult), in his usual scholarly style, sums up the accusations against me, speaking of  

"one Miguel Martinez, now exposed on Italian NGs as a clown hiding under a variety of Internet aliases and (under his own name) as a former writer for the anti-semitic magazine' Orion' together with Robert Faurisson, the father of all Holocaust negationists."

I shall deal with the "pseudonyms" later on. "Together with", plus the use of the plural, makes one think of a series of articles written jointly.

The reality is quite different. Orion is a small "alternative" magazine. Authors include Right wing extremists, but also Left wing extremists, science-fiction fans, neo-pagans, Muslims and even members and friends of Alleanza Cattolica, who engage in free and fierce polemics with each other. Orion has also published articles by such diverse authors as Sub-Commander Marcos and Noam Chomsky.  

Back in 1993 a single article signed Miguel Martinez was published; this article, picked up from a bullettin published by cult critics, was about the anti-Communist cult of the Korean, Sun Myung Moon. The only reference in this article to the Second World War was a mention of the fact that one of Moon's associates was a convicted war criminal. Now, according to the friends of CESNUR, at some indefinite date, Orion is also supposed to have published an article by the controversial Frenchman, Robert Faurisson. I have no idea whether this is true or not, and of course the whole matter would be of interest only if this article came out before 1993, or if there was the slightest affinity in content between the articles. Because, what does CESNUR's accusation mean: does mentioning the links between the Latin American death squads and "Reverend" Moon mean practising anti-Semitism? If this accusation cannot be fitted into a logical framework, it will be exactly like accusing Introvigne of having sent the tanks rolling into Prague simply because he writes about "new religions" in L'Humanité.  

I have nothing whatsoever against extremists, whether they be of the anti-US variety (like Orion) or of the pro-US variety (like Alleanza Cattolica). I have repeatedly said that I see nothing wrong in Introvigne being a right-wing extremist. What I do find dubious is when an extremist group - of any kind - sets up a "study centre" which claims to be scientifically objective. It is reminiscent of the Creation Science study centres set up by evangelicals keen on scientifically proving the world was created 6000 years ago.

A second accusation against me involves my disagreement with ARIS, a non denominational Italian cult critic association. Here is how Religiosus, in his usual scientific style, explains the event:

"Dear Miguel Martinez […] You are so ignorant that even the most ramshackle Italian anti-cult movement, ARIS, has expelled you with a big kick on your butt for having said who knows what idiocy about Islam. I have a friend in ARIS who told me that the kick was painful, with an official press release, and that you are still crying over the pain. Ai, Miguel, que dolor!" (the whole post)

Certain details immediately show that Religiosus did not learn the story from a "friend in ARIS", as he threateningly says, but from a messageIwrote on the discussion group on "new religions", NUREL, where Massimo Introvigne too writes. In any case, I was not expelled from ARIS at all; I did not even belong to the group. To be exact, I sent them a fax explaining that I no longer intended to work together with them. This fax actually took ARIS by surprise. My opinions are different from those of ARIS. But here we are speaking about facts, and concerning these facts, ARIS too agrees with me.  

How to Use Evidence

Another important rule for proper polemics is this: never make any accusation which does enjoy the support of a plausible theory, but is lacking in proof.

Let us take as an example an accusation I never made: "CESNUR is financed by Scientology." Such a statement might be supported by indirect evidence (CESNUR organises extremely expensive conferences) and a plausible theory could be set up to support it as well: CESNUR does legitimise Scientology as a religion and this does imply a vast number of privileges for this US transnational corporation. However I have no proof that Scientology pays CESNUR, so I shall never make a statement to that effect. In other words, one must never make accusations even when one does have evidence and a plausible theory, but no proof. On the other hand, the friends of CESNUR launch accusations even when all three are missing.

Let us take what, at least according to them, is an accusation. I am supposed to use several pseudonyms on Internet: Martini, Martinelli and Harry, three names which appear in a site called "Allarme Scientology" and sometimes on newsgroups (this accusation sounds a little strange, coming as it does from somebody who calls himself Religiosus). In this case, there is one piece of evidence: the names Martinez, Martini and Martinelli sound rather similar.  

However there is no supporting theory at all. Why should anybody write publicly under his own name about highly controversial issues, and then use a pseudonym to write about less controversial matters? I know I am neither Martini nor Martinelli nor Harry. However, I am not asking anyone to take my word for it. There is very clear proof of what I say: Martini, Martinelli and Harry are all three experts on Scientology, a subject they have been dealing with for years, on their website. Anybody who knows the cult and cult critic scene in Italy is perfectly aware that I am no expert on Scientology. Also, a quick look at the texts written by each clearly shows we are all different people. But here is how a CESNUR friend who signs himself "Lancillotto" ("Lancelot") reacts when asked to consider these arguments:

"Sorry, nobody believes you. You are triple, as long as the money keeps pouring in."

A phrase which - in Italian - contains what some people assure us is Introvigne's favourite pun.

Martini, Martinelli and Harry are excellent people, and I have no problem in being associated with them. In fact, this accusation works, not because it is offensive, but exactly because it is false. The mechanism is childish but effective: "You are Eskimo!" "No, I have nothing against Eskimos, but I don't happen to be one!" "Liar! You see he denies being an Eskimo?" Writing, as he himself claims, from the CESNUR conference on spiritualism in Turin, an imitator of Religiosus calls me "Miguel Bugiardez," something we can translate as "Miguel the Liar." The statement made by the Cesnurians becomes defamatory - from a legal point of view as well - since it means they call me a liar whenever I deny it. A Secret Between Me and Freud

The expression, "as long as the money keeps pouring in" is another kind of statement one should avoid when engaging in polemics between adults. The CESNUR friend is stating as a fact that somebody is paying me. Of course, everything is possible. We have seen how one can even play with the hypothesis that Scientology pays CESNUR. But "Lancillotto" makes his statement without any supporting theory at all: who is supposed to be paying for me? The Belgian parliament? The psychiatrists? International communism?

Without any supporting hypothesis, the friends of CESNUR have at least presented a small piece of evidence: the fact that the CESNUR Critical Page has an elegant lay-out. This is what Religiosus means when, in another message, he says the following about me:

"Struck by sudden richness, he set up an imposing anti-CESNUR website; an anti-Scientology site had blazed the trail for this site."

Similar statements have been made in the past by Introvigne (see here). Now it is obviously no sense to set up a site critical towards Scientology (something which notoriously involves some risk) only in order to open some pages, on that same site, which criticise CESNUR. It should also be remembered that the pages critical towards CESNUR were removed in March, and that the site has gone back to dealing with Scientology only. After a period of total suspension, I had to find a new home for this "critical page", a home which only now has become final. I agree that my "critical page" is pretty. The technical difference between this page, created by Harry, and the rest of the Kelebek site, created by me, is painfully obvious.  

Anyhow, scientific research - something CESNUR often speaks of - is based on the possibility of repeating experiments and changing one's mind on the basis of evidence. I therefore invite Dr Introvigne to call up a dozen or so different webmasters. He will notice that they will all say that the costs are quite low. Of course, this does not prove I don't receive money. Perhaps I pocket the sums I get from the Communist psychiatrists. But until Introvigne can discover where I hide the receipts, this will be a secret between me and Freud.

Why it's Important to Keep Calm

Another important piece of advice. Never get hysterical. One will end up by appearing ridiculous. In a post on NUREL (March 24th, 1999), Massimo Introvigne comments a message of mine in which I had only mentioned CESNUR en passant and in quite neutral terms. Here is how his reply starts:  

"While I normally do not respond to nonsense about CESNUR (serious researches should be able to recognize trash when they see it) a recent posting by a professional anti-cultist is more nonsensical than usual."

And now let's listen to Religiosus (see here):

"Martinez is a professional anti-cultist." (in the same last Religiosus post)

Actually, I am a professional interpreter, and in any case my vision of the "cult" issue is very far from that of, say Margaret Singer, the "cult enemy" par excellence.

But here is another outburst of the same author:

"Dear Miguel, as a case of multiple personality disorder (MPD) you are just second rate. So far, you have emanated Harry, Martini, Martinelli and Martinovsky plus the short-lived Andrea Vinci. Imagine, in America there are cases of MPD with fifty or sixty different personalities, each with its own different features, competences, names (and probably ways of posting on NGs). Admit it. You're a failure, you are tortured by envy when Zoccatelli [a prominent militant of both CESNUR and Alleanza Cattolica] is interviewed by the national media and nobody cares about you."

Another suggestion for CESNUR - mention personal matters only when these mean something. I hope Introvigne has a happy family life, but this is no business of mine and as a matter of fact I have never mentioned it. Now here is what the friends of CESNUR have to say in the same post about my private life:

"After all, cases of MPD are not so frequent in and around Imola and this summer on the beach even a mental dissociation case like you with only five personalities (but try to emanate some more in the meantime) can pick up some German girl (or a Muslim girl, if you prefer). Of course you run the risk of falling into an identity crisis at the crucial moment and forgetting your name. A beastly summer lies ahead of you. Send our greetings to Faurisson."

This is an example of a losing strategy. The author is obviously utterly unable to control his hatred. He goes on stating as a fact the usual hypothesis about pseudonyms. Finally, ever since the early days of the Palaeolithic, hurling insults based on sex or on mental health has always been a clear sign of when the offending party has lost its capacity for arguing. In other words, Religiosus ends up looking stupid and makes the whole institution he represents appear ridiculous. 

  A Forgery

I have no time to follow newsgroups. I found out about this whole story thanks to a friend of mine who forwarded me Religiosus' messages, together with a forged message signed "Demetrio Martinovskj" and attributed to me. I quote the full message, to show the incredibly low level touched by the "friends of CESNUR":

BTW, both our tireless travellers spent their Easter holidays teaching lessons on the New Age at a retreat for young Adventists (a Christian, pro-Jewish religion) in Tuscany. They never stop, do they? Were the corn flakes, at least, good?"

This forgery was written by somebody who knew where Introvigne and Zoccatelli had just spent their holidays. The reference (perfectly meaningless, of course) to a "Christian, pro-Jewish religion" of course was studied to offend religious people in general, Christians and Jews in a single blow. The forger shows such an intense affection for PierLuigi Zoccatelli that he is even unable to accuse him (as I supposedly should do) of being apologetic towards cults. "Martinovskj" merely says that Zoccatelli is famous and is a "tireless traveller": hardly a criticism.  

This is quite obviously a criminal offence, since the message was studied for the sole purpose of defaming me and promoting CESNUR. So I hope it will be possible to track down the real author of this message. In any case, this forgery was not a very intelligent move, since I had not written on CESNUR for several months, and indeed I was starting to work on quite different issues. Let sleeping dogs lie… perhaps they counted on my missing what was going on in the newsgroups, but inevitably, sooner or later, somebody would have started forwarding me their messages.   Who is Religiosus?

First of all, I would like to reassure Religiosus, and above all Lancillotto - who prudently hides behind the name of Arthur's bravest knight. CESNUR knows my name and address, and I am not one bit afraid of them; why should they be afraid of me?

As soon as I replied on the Newsgroups, the anonymous defamer changed his strategy. From a group of sympathisers, if not member, of CESNUR, "Religiosus" suddenly became a joke:

"This is how the Religiosus game is played: to post as 'Religiosus' from dejanews, from any computer, all that is needed is to know the password, and this password has been sent to dozens of people ('cult apologists', 'cult members', some more sporting anti-cultist and simple practical jokers), each being asked to continue the chain."

This prudent statement in view of legal liability comes a little too late. It fully contradicts a statement made just 4 days before - on March 5th- by Religiosus on it.cultura.newage:

"Religiosus is a collective nom de plume used by several different people with the same password, who employ different computers (hence the different IP addresses, if you want to amuse yourselves by looking for them) and who share certain ideas and who are in touch with CESNUR."

In other words, they share the same ideas and are directly in touch with Massimo Introvigne's organisation. In any case, the majority of Religiosus' messages has the same style, and is anything but playful. Here is a typical example:

"If you move around the Web, you will see that CESNUR is the constant target for insults from anti-cultists, and CESNUR never replies with the same tone."

True enough - as we have seen, the tone of the friends of CESNUR is very different indeed from mine, at least.  

As soon as they realised the risks they were making the reputation of CESNUR run, Religiosus disappeared, and insults began to dwindle, thus showing that the supposed "chain mail" was actually under some form of control. There is very clearly one main Religiosus, surrounded by a few colleagues whom, perhaps, he gave the password to (this does not free him of course from his liabilities).  

Some friends suggested that Religiosus is forced to hide his identity, because he is actually Massimo Introvigne himself. This is their reasoning. I shall also say why I do not accept their hypothesis. Religiosus is somebody directly involved, who has totally lost his self-control because of the criticism I have moved to CESNUR's methods. Just imagine - for over one month, this person has been writing two or three messages of insults every single day against one person, that is me. Also imagine - the over one hundred messages he has sent so far are simply based on nothing. I am sure that even the most generous reader will agree that the author of these messages is a seriously disturbed individual. Now, I do not believe that Introvigne is mentally disturbed, or that he is so stupid: not even the Legionaries of Christ would allow somebody like Religiosus to teach for three days a year in one of their institutions (this is why Introvigne can use the title of "professor").

My friends claim that Religiosus employs many of Introvigne's most typical expressions. However, it is also true that everybody in CESNUR tends to speak and write like the founder. These friends also point out that Religiosus usually mails from a TIN ISP in Turin, using Netscape 3.02 on a Macintosh computer. Just as Massimo Introvigne does in his public messages. I do not see this to be compelling proof.My friends also note that Religiosus posts both in Italian and in English; but the messages in English were clearly written by an Italian who (like Introvigne) knows English quite well. Not proof enough for my scientific mind. However, there is one decisive point, which proves that Introvigne cannot be Religiosus: Introvigne has repeatedly written that he does not engage in polemics on newsgroups. And of course I take his word for it. At least until the opposite is proven.

  Miguel Martinez Imola, 1.5.99