#THE GROWTH THE LACK OF HESITATION THE CONVICTION

[cubedmango]

i owe my life to the ppl posting spoiler clips but also they gotta stop doing it so close to movie release i cant handle it

[ohisms]

↪ ✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐋 ( based on the oracle deck created by fez inkwright. each card represents an archetypal 'character' who resides in the citadel. send these as prompts for inspiring starters , or use them for drabbles ! feel free to combine prompts where desired . SEND A " ✧ " FOR RECIEVER TO RANDOMIZE A CARD ! )

𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 , - the aspirant : ambition, diligence, setbacks. - the assassin : ruthlessness, conviction. - the catalyst : radical changes, taking control. - the diviner : divine timing, evaluation. - the fate : accepting help, guidance. - the founder : foundations, community. - the heir : unseen potential, hesitation. - the hound : loyalty, chains, promises. - the king : control, reversal of fortune. - the poet : relationships, vulnerability. - the queen : determination, sacrifice. - the sleeper : cause and effect, clarity. - the spymaster : knowledge, distrust. - the waker : awareness, reflection. - the wise one : tradition, order.

𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐘 , - the acolyte : new projects, learning. - the alchemist : balance, invention, destruction. - the archer : biding your time, planning ahead. - the astronomer : discovery, augury. - the captain : taking command, teamwork. - the cartographer : a crossroads, exploration. - the champion : achievement, downfall. - the enchanter : deception, trickery. - the guide : inheritance, correction. - the orator : communication, confidence. - the patron : mentorship, finances. - the priest : perseverance, faith. - the scholar : investigation, research. - the sentinel : determination, certainty. - the warrior : perfectionism, burnout.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐃 , - the botanist : parenthood, legacy. - the forgotten : missed opportunities, fear of failure. - the gambler : loss, risks. - the hunter : surefootedness , predestination. - the merchant : self-worth, trade. - the miser : stubbornness, inflexibility. - the muse : generosity, naivety. - the pathless : difficult decisions, lack of direction. - the pilgrim : opportunities, growth. - the sailor : new influences, wanderlust. - the shepherd : celebration, family. - the smith : overthinking, taking action. - the thief : seizing the moment, selfishness. - the vengeance : overcoming sleights, a choice. - the walker : the unknown, the journey.

𝐈𝐕. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐄 , - the adventurer : responsibility, expectations. - the brawler : lack of empathy, confrontation. - the chiromancer : delivering news, collaboration. - the dancer : self-expression, strength. - the herald : small regrets, longing. - the mascareri : hiding your true self, projection. - the musician : inspiration, gratitude. - the painter : productivity, creation. - the puppeteer : explanations, apologies. - the runaway : secrets, running away from problems. - the storyteller : viewpoints, control. - the tailor : attention to detail, pride. - the twins : self-protection, dual natures. - the weaver : rediscovery, transition. - the witch : experimentation, rebellion.

[lgcnina]

✰ ◞ TEAM UNKNOWN FINAL MEETING. and thus, the curtains close on this act.

there's an odd sensation resting on the precipice of her shoulders, a weight that teeters back and forth between a burden far too heavy to lift, and the touch of long-awaited relief. mixed somewhere deep within, confusion, a perplexity nina can't seem to untwine from the tendrils of expectancy these last few months have allowed to fester in the pit of her stomach. at one point, back when their trainee group had first been curated, she'd been so sure that, initial hesitance aside, they'd eventually be able to decipher just what this would all be about.

it was all too particular, planned and organized in a way far too odd to be solved by ordinary means, and thus, ninas preconceived notions had all but quickly died a few days into their tiny groups first week.

now, having pushed through, the finish line right at the tips of her toes as she herded to her final meeting, nina still can't tell which way was up and which was down.

anything could happen at this point ( in fact, anything had happened— anything was what got her in this position to begin with, an unforeseen occurrence she'd still need more time to digest on her own, even now that it was all seemingly completed ).

alone time would come to her eventually. now, entering the meeting room and sitting before her appointed coach, there were a few final questions that needed reflecting.

"what was the hardest part during these last ten weeks?"

"dancing hasn't ever been one of my strongest suits, i think that's something we might be able to agree on," nina begins, candid, wanting to get straight to the point. there wasn't a need to dwindle, not when honesty was something she'd never had an issue with providing— not when it came to performance, a reflection of skills, and the talk of growth. "all this time, i'd thought i'd done well to improve that aspect of my skill set, but this whole experience was a bit of a wake-up call. i could've been doing more before this." with the emphasis she'd always pushed onto her vocal capabilities, it seemed only natural for dancing to take something of a hit, lacking in proper attention outside of what was mandatory. week two had been a proper kick in the ass, and while she'd managed to make it through with a little help and true signs of growth, that hadn't saved her body from feeling thoroughly throttled.

even now, parts of her ached that'd never felt such a sensation before. learning the choreography for antifragile had been a particular beast, all on its own. growing pains, with plenty more to come if she truly meant to stick by her newfound convictions. "the dance lessons proved to be my biggest challenge, but they helped."

"alright, then what was the easiest part?"

again, nina feels as though it's quite an obvious answer. "i'm a vocalist— a singer." there's a pause, a moment for her to collect her words, rifling through what she'd like to say. "week one hadn't ever been something i found myself feeling worried over. don't get me wrong, we sped through several techniques and lessons, far more than i was expecting us to tackle in such a short amount of time, but adapting wasn't hard. i enjoyed it the most, in fact— there's nothing wrong with circling back to basics or touching on more advanced skills." nina tries not to mull over her words too much, wanting only to share where her mind has been for the last two months. "i wouldn't mind taking part in more intensive vocal lessons like this again in the future."

"throughout all of this, have you learned anything new about yourself?"

now that . . . gives her momentary pause. they were pushing, prodding, digging deep with claws too sharp and intrusive. it was one thing to make self-discoveries— it was another to then bare one's vulnerability to those who might not always understand. for as honest as she was wanting to be, trying to be, truly letting go and allowing others in ( especially when they weren't anywhere near close to breaking her boundaries ) was cause for inner alarm. of course they'd want to know something like this, a prolonged, stress-inducing event such as this was almost always a breeding ground for personal growth. nina remains silent, lips pursed slightly as she gazes at the table separating herself from the coach.

against the bile, nina speaks. "i've learned that i'm capable of asking for help when i really need it." her voice is steady, even, and her gaze lifts to make eye contact. "i'm not the only person here, experiencing all of . . . this," with her hands, she gestures vaguely around her. "the perspectives and input of other people really can help broaden things." i just have to stop being so stubborn all the time.

"finally, what do you wish to accomplish from this point on?"

swallowing, nina straightens in her chair slightly. "growth is always something i'm working towards, in all aspects." this past year alone has proven to her how detrimental throwing all your eggs into one basket could truly be, a damaging fall from heights unthought of forcing her to really see her world for what it truly was— there wasn't room to slack, not anymore, not when slacking even the slightest bit could mean the difference between being seen and being overlooked.

"i want to keep honing my skills. growing stagnant hurts more than anything else, and that's the last thing i want for myself."

i don't want to hurt again. i will not hurt again.

[urbtnews]

A Cult and a Religion: How to Tell the Difference

A Cult and a Religion: How to Tell the Difference. In a world where individuals seek belonging, purpose, and answers, the allure of charismatic leaders and tight-knit communities can be enticing. But hidden beneath the veneer of shared beliefs and camaraderie lies a sinister reality: the dangers of cults. From psychological manipulation to tragic outcomes, this article delves into the shadow of cults, shedding light on the genuine perils that unsuspecting individuals can face. Before we dive into the downside of religious freedom, let’s take a look at the upside of religious freedom. - Individual Autonomy- Religious freedom allows individuals to choose and practice their faith or belief system according to their conscience. It respects their autonomy and personal convictions. -  Peace and Conflict Resolution- Promoting religious freedom can contribute to peace and conflict resolution by reducing communal tensions and conflicts. -  Protection of Minorities- It helps protect minorities from discrimination and persecution, ensuring their safety and rights. -  Human Connection- Religious freedom also increases the chances of human connection and interactions. It also gives one a sense of belonging. A cult is a group of unorthodox beliefs or practices deviating from mainstream or traditional religions. Cults all begin as a religious organization, but not all religious organizations are cults. Cults are initially led by a charismatic and authoritarian leader who employs manipulative and coercive tactics to control its members. These toxic charismatic leaders’ innuendos are to exploit, isolate, and psychologically manipulate their members for the benefit of the leader or group, sometimes leading to harm or abuse.      DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP Healthy vs. Unhealthy Religious Leaders Healthy Religious Leaders PICTURE: Panagía Paraportianí Church, Greece. PHOTO: COURTESY OF: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 (Dated September 23, 2020) A healthy religious leader respects their followers’ individual beliefs and autonomy, encouraging personal spiritual growth. They display humility and do not seek excessive personal glorification or power. Healthy leaders are open to questions and discussions, fostering an environment where members can ask for clarification or express doubts. They also have ethical convictions in respecting their followers’ boundaries and privacy. They are careful not to engage in invasive or controlling behavior. Their goal is to consistently implement unity without risking harm to their members or the integrity of their faith and personal convictions. They seek to promote harmony and peace, easy conflict resolution, accountability, and encouragement of free will in matters of faith. Unhealthy Religious Leaders PICTURE: A section of a memorial located at the Mount Carmel Center site listing the Branch Davidians killed in the Waco massacre. Across the top, Adventist leaders from Ellen G. White to Vernon Howell (David Koresh) are identified as "The Seven Shepherds of the Advent Movements". The Mount Carmel Center was a large group of buildings used by the Branch Davidian religious group located near Axtell, Texas, 20 miles north-east of Waco. PHOTO: COURTESY OF: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 (Dated May 31, 2022) Unhealthy leaders, or for lack of a better word, cultish leaders rely on their charisma to lure unsuspecting people into their web. The leader’s agenda is to seek and exploit, seek to control by using manipulative techniques to isolate members and implement members to obey orders without question, hesitation, or delay. The purpose of isolation is to manage and maintain other members within the group. It is part of a leader's agenda, and it dehumanizes those outside the group. Cult leaders and their enablers freely use fear and guilt at their leisure to maintain control over their followers. Power and control are the cycle and goals of cult leaders. When cult leaders can't maintain control over their followers, the consequences can be as drastic as death. Cult leaders such as Charles Manson, David Koresh, Jim Jones, Marshall Applewhite, and Peter Mosley are examples of unquestioning loyalty that caused harm and death. We all desire to belong to something much bigger than ourselves. A Faithful Reminder It is wise to remember that we are all here to serve one another in love and that anything outside of that as motivation could potentially put others in harm’s way. DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP A Cult and a Religion: How to Tell the Difference Read the full article

[rogueninja12]

Chapter 3: Navigating Love and Life - Embracing Change and Ambitions

As my academic journey continued, I found myself excelling in my semesters, much to my mother's delight. Her satisfaction and growing trust in me were precious rewards for my hard work. Beyond the walls of my engineering college, I forged strong connections with friends who became pillars of support, offering a safe haven amidst life's uncertainties. Amidst these triumphs, Naushad and I grappled with the complexities of our relationship, realizing that despite our deep love, toxicity had tainted our bond.

We were young and passionate, but the flame that burned between us became destructive. Struggling to find the balance between love and self-care, we were unable to create a healthy safe space for each other. Our love was genuine, and we had each other's best interests at heart, but our journey together had turned tumultuous. We stood by each other in the darkest hours, proving that our feelings were genuine, but we knew that the toxicity needed to be addressed.

During one moment when we weren't dating, life presented us with an unexpected twist. An accident left me with a burn on my arm, and without hesitation, I reached out to Naushad for support. True to his caring nature, he appeared at my college gate with ice and ointments, eager to tend to my wounds. Despite our struggles, his kindness and love remained steadfast.

As college drew to a close, our relationship maintained an unpredictable rhythm of being on and off. Though life seemed slightly better, a cloud of uncertainty lingered, stemming from my father's occasional appearances and half-hearted attempts to contribute to my education. His lack of support and hurtful words were a constant reminder of the toxic family dynamics I had left behind.

In 2017, I graduated with an engineering degree, a testament to my determination and perseverance. While I secured a job in the corporate world, I couldn't shake the feeling of being confined, like a bird yearning for the freedom of the open skies. The corporate environment felt like chains restraining my creativity and yearning to explore the depths of knowledge within me. I knew my passion lay in research, and the urge to pursue it beyond the borders of India grew stronger with each passing day.

Supported by my mother's unwavering encouragement, I set out to make preparations for my journey into the world of research. I envisioned a future where I could unleash my potential, contribute to the world's knowledge, and make a lasting impact. But this path demanded courage and an adventurous spirit, for it entailed leaving the familiar comforts of home and venturing into uncharted territories.

Leaving India behind was no easy decision, and the fear of the unknown gnawed at my heart. But as I stood on the precipice of change, I realized that growth and transformation awaited me beyond the horizon. My mother's unwavering support acted as a beacon of strength, guiding me towards the pursuit of my dreams. Her belief in me fueled my determination, instilling within me the conviction that I could brave the challenges that lay ahead.

With trepidation and excitement intertwined, I set out on a path less traveled, ready to embrace the possibilities that life had to offer. My heart swelled with gratitude for my mother's unwavering love and support, for she had been the steady hand that guided me through life's trials and tribulations.

As I embarked on this new chapter, I knew that it was not just a journey of geographical distance but also one of self-discovery and transformation. Leaving behind the familiar comforts of home, I stepped into a world of endless possibilities, fueled by ambition and the eagerness to make a difference. This chapter marked the beginning of an extraordinary expedition, where I would unravel the threads of my destiny and embrace the unknown with open arms, for I knew that within the chaos of life, lay the beauty of becoming.

[karthikadme]

SWOT Analysis

If you want to be happy, set a goal that commands your thoughts, liberates your energy and inspires your hopes.” (Andrew Carnegie)

SWOT Analysis is an immensely powerful tool, which I recommend each one of you to do, at least once a year. This is a process of taking stock of Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats. If the SWOT analysis is done by self, then get this discussed with your mentor or guide and fine-tune. If it is done for your company, then involve the key stakeholders, key leadership team, and fine-tune. This is an extremely simple tool, if done diligently the benefits are immense. It helps to bank on strengths, work on weaknesses to improve, cash on the opportunities and prepare well to overcome the threats.

Each of the component of SWOT is explained in detail below:

Strengths: Identify your true strengths. Critically examine what these strengths have delivered. Example: As an individual you may find strength as “Effective in negotiation”- validate this with the results you achieved, like ability to get the best product or service at the right price or you negotiated well to get a better budget for your function. Like this, list down the key 7-8 strengths that truly depicts you as an individual or for an organization.  

Weaknesses: This really requires tremendous amount of courage and conviction to write down. Critically question what you were not able to achieve or what you are hesitant of doing it. Example: For some people “networking or socializing” is a bigger challenge. For some “Communication” of thoughts is a problem. As a company you might have disgruntled employees, it would be a hurdle to achieve the set goals. The weakness here results in is low levels of customer satisfaction. Once the weakness is identified then it is easy to improve.   

Opportunities: Which is obvious or might come at later point of time, but one need to try to get it. In current times the opportunities are anything you do in the areas of personal hygiene and the products or services that might help people work from home.  Identify all probable areas of opportunities and draw up a plan to work on it.

Threats: understanding the likely threats will help you plan better. Example if your house is in the low-lying area, there is likely threat that during monsoon your house is getting flooded. Similarly, for your organization if you know that another company starting operations in your area, there is a likelihood that few of your key resources might be poached by this company. By understanding these threats in advance will help you to plan things better, may be the design of your house and the drainage system to take care of floods and develop second line resource to take up the enhanced role etc.

The answers to these questions outlined below may help you to identify S-W-O-T more appropriately: 

Strengths (S) A distinctive competence? Well-thought-of by stakeholders? An acknowledged leader? Well-conceived operational strategies? Location advantages? Insulated from competitive pressure? Proprietary technology? Adequate financial resources? Access to economies of scale? Cost advantages? Product innovation abilities? Proven management?

Weaknesses (W) No clear strategic direction? Obsolete facilities? Weak image? Poor track record? Falling behind in R & D? Lack of managerial depth and talent? Missing any essential skills or competencies? Plagued with internal operational problems? Vulnerable to competitive pressures? Competitive disadvantage? Below-average marketing skills? Unable to finance needed changes in strategy?

Opportunities (O) Serve additional customer groups? Enter new market or segments? Expand to meet broader range of customer needs? Diversify into related services? Vertical integration? Ability to move to better strategic group. Complacency among other companies? Faster market growth?

Threats (T) Likely entry of new competitor? Growing of substitute/competition? Slower growth? Adverse government policies? Vulnerability to recession and business cycle? Growing bargaining power of customers or suppliers? Changing stakeholder needs and tastes? Adverse demographic changes?

Recommended five steps on SWOT Analysis:

It is extremely easy to do, anyone who understands the basic concepts can do this exercise.

It concentrates on most important factors affecting individual or organization.  

Once the analysis is done, prepare a plan of action (POA) to address the areas of Weakness, Opportunities and Threats.

Periodically review these POA to make progress.

Repeat this exercise on a periodical basis.  

“Goals are not only absolutely necessary to motivate us. They are essential to really keep us alive.” (Robert H. Schuler)

[kindredhearts13]

This is probably going to be an unpopular opinion, or perhaps a secretly popular one, who knows. And before I get more hate for pointing out plot holes or choices in character development (or lack there of) that I don’t agree with- please note that this is NOT an anti-any ship post.

Now, the point: I am having a major issue feeling connected to Chicago PD, which makes it harder for me to want to watch a show that I have loved and watched grow. It feels stilted right now, like I can fully guess the direction of the season without even watching it. Just go based off of episode blurbs and people’s reactions. And I think that, outside of the obvious, there are particular reasons for my hesitation.

The first is Jay and Hailey. No, not necessarily them being a couple but the fact that I cannot bring myself to be as invested as I would like to be because they took the plot-line (and aspects of the storyline) originally intended for Erin and just recycled it. Yes, there are key differences but to be clear: a repeated or recycled storyline does NOT have to be identical to the original one. It just needs to have enough similarities. Jesse and Tracy are such strong actors, and I feel like they aren’t being given the depth of storytelling that they deserve. Why won’t they let Jay find love outside of the department? Or Hailey for that matter? (And I don’t mean the fling with Camilla or briefly dating Gabby.) Let them grow and find balance to a life that is repeatedly shown to be all too consuming? Why not explore that growth and then use that to bring them together? Why reuse a plot that was clearly intended for one character rather than create something unique and purposefully designed for a new dynamic introduced on the show?

Hailey’s character came on the show with the strong conviction that she didn’t date her partners, even being supported by Trudy in that; but we never got to see her growth outside of a very specific lens that relies on her being the love interest of two men on the show. And they were both men that she works with. And the conflict of her hard line drawn when she first came on the show was barely dealt with.

Hailey being held accountable now for a situation with Voight, despite Tracy doing such a brilliant job, even feels stilted because she spent all of her past seasons being held accountable for nothing. Even in her short-lived friendship with Rojas, so little was explored so little chance for growth outside of a romantic relationship with Ruzek and Jay was given. Basically every single major piece of information we have learned about Hailey and her backstory have come from her romantic linking to another character. And that is so disheartening because she was introduced one way with such strength and depth, but is being made into someone that essentially doesn’t exist without a love interest to help push her story along. And, frankly, as one of two female leads on the show (one lead if you don’t count Kim as a lead) she deserves better.

The next issue I have is Atwater. I think everyone knows that LaRoyce is consistently under-utilized on the show. They had such a beautiful opportunity with all that has happened in the past few years and even with the storyline they introduced about him vs the blue wall. And his conflict with Voight over the latter’s style of policing, completely reduced and to a minor conflict rather than one majorly driving the story and overarching conflict for the entire team. But they refuse to go any deeper into these issues with him. And while his conversations and conflicts with Ruzek are well done and necessary- we’re missing that vital piece with the rest of the cast. Atwater is somehow the character with the most and least growth on the show. He went from being the guy in Intelligence that Al felt didn’t deserve the spot as much as Kim, to being a vital part of the team and so often the soul of the show (more of a testament to LaRoyce). Al’s death wasn’t even used as a major growth moment for him, such as questioning if he finally proved himself or not. Yet they do nothing with him, not at the level they do for all of the other white characters on the show. Even the issues with his siblings aren’t given the growth and attention that they should be, despite them being major parts of his character’s storyline and development.

I remember reading that Miranda Rae Mayo wanted Atwater and Kidd (Fire) to get together for a while before Stellaride became an official thing, but it was a no go. And I keep thinking of the agency that would’ve given him- to be with someone who is so multi-faceted and that would have forced the writers to match her in their development. I wish that they would do more of this development outside of a relationship, but if that is the way to do it- this would have been a great opportunity.

I have already spoken about the clear racism and lack of representation within the fandom, often brewed from what is presented on screen. But it just astounds me that a show, which takes place in a city with a large minority population, and features such a well conceived character of color has yet to find its footing for any of their characters of color. And whenever they show significant growth, they’re either killed off or arrested.

And this leads me to my last issue that will be addressed in this post, actually going back to what was said about Hailey earlier. Hailey’s treatment of black characters on the show is NEVER discussed. She does something that causes damage or death to a black character and it is used as a development chip into a step of her romantic relationship rather than a significant moment of reckoning.

Hailey mentally and emotionally manipulated a young, innocent black man that ultimately took his own life. And we were meant to feel sorry for her, see that as a juicy moment of romantic struggle, and forget about it rather than mourn the loss of that young man. And it was never addressed. Hailey caused the killing of yes, an anti-hero in the series, but a significant black face to the minorities of Chicago that greatly impacted the community. She had a conversation with Voight, a slight moment with Jay, and then nothing. The impact that death had on the community that we spent a whole season with was never even addressed. She made an insensitive comment to Atwater, and spoke to Jay about it but never was given any further attention and a need to call out and address her actions was never expressed. Instead, we see her “punished” for her actions by getting to work with the FBI and offered a job, then getting with her partner.

But, she kills a white man with Voight and all hell breaks loose. (Make it make sense.)

As a black woman, trying to digest this show has become more and more of a struggle, as much as I love it. And it infuriates me to the point of tears that people will so fiercely protect a romantic shipping more than they will characters of color and how they are literally treated as disposable and second thoughts. I adore this show, but I can feel so abandoned and unrepresented by it. A show that focuses in on policing has a responsibility to do better and I sincerely hope that it starts to.

We need more from the show for the women on the show. We need more from the show for the characters of color. And we most definitely need more from the show for the level of accountability and what is viewed as something worthy of being held accountable for.

I love this show and I have such love for these characters, but I can’t just silently watch anymore. And before I get messages asking me to “not cross tag shows” or “not post this in a ship tag.” Understand that critiques can be made for One Chicago as a whole and that if you’re more concerned about a tag than what is being communicated about people of color and of women on television, it is time to reassess.

[morsking]

uhhhhhh to better grasp why rin is a host for both ishtar and ereshkigal and why sakura is a host for both kama and parvati you’re gonna have to read the vn since that is the only place where you will be treated to the different dimensions of both their characters and dispel any illusions and misunderstandings the ubw anime created (about rin in particular). i can explain it well but if you have the ability to, you should read the vn to really let it sink in and appreciate things more organically.

there are times in the anime where rin feels like a caricature of herself since she appears so confident and fun-loving and tsundere about it (the vn sometimes does this too but manages to balance things out a little better) that it overshadows how rin is also in her own way extremely repressed. 

rin, while fashioning herself the ruler of her own world and a competent genius is still someone shackled to her duty as the last living tohsaka heir and denies herself a more profound and fundamental happiness because she reasons so long as she is the tohsaka heir, she can never be sakura’s sister, and wrongfully believes that sakura has moved on without her and belongs with the matous oblivious to what zouken has done to sakura for almost 11 years because it’s easier to think that sakura doesn’t care about her anymore than to confront all she’s taught and has lived for for so long is wrong and that she has a chance to make it right. rin however finds ways to keep running into sakura just enough that her true desires betray her efforts at keeping her distance, and if sakura just said “you are my sister, please let’s live together again” no doubt rin would be so torn to hesitate yet so hopeful to as to want it to be real. 

rin’s apparent emotional independence and reputation is a product of her purposefully distancing herself from making any real human connections because she has no idea how to be emotionally available from years of stifling aristocratic conditioning. if she puts herself on a pedestal, it’s easier for others to not approach her and see through her facade. apart from that, as much fun as rin could possibly have by herself there is still something that will keep her from feeling truly fulfilled, and that’s the lack of opportunity (and emotional bravery) to reconcile with sakura. it’s also easier to forsake sakura and threaten to kill her when she’s out of control because acknowledging the horror of killing her own sister would break her own convictions and denounce her, and the tohsakas, as murderers and frauds. ishtar is that side of rin that finds being herself and living as the person in charge of her own existence. ereshkigal is the unhappy part of rin that yearns for more than what she’s been given but feels too guilty and too bound by responsibility to seek it out, and therefore denies herself her wish to connect with the person who would make all the difference in the world (sakura for rin, guda for eresh). 

sakura is a naturally kind, gentle, yet strong-willed individual who has experienced that which would break and utterly annihilate most at a spiritual level. sakura only survived what she did because her mental fortitude, much like shirou’s, is so exceptional she will always retain her sense of self even if pushed to the very brink of suffering. despite that, she grew up extremely bitter, depressed, and with a disposition that utterly gave up on the world that abandoned her to the point where she wished others to fail and suffer at whatever they endeavored. if her life was pointless and fruitless as to be thrown away, why shouldn’t everyone else’s be too? 

it’s really not until she met shirou that she began to change her mind and desire to have more than just numbness. a boy who just wouldn’t give up no matter how many times he couldn’t clear that jump, and accepted the outcome without regrets, second-thoughts, and self-loathing left such a deep impression on sakura that she wanted that thoughtless drive to live freely and greet tomorrow as a given to be hers as well. 

little by little the broken doll with lifeless eyes restored more and more of her inner kindness and good faith, both because she gained a will that did more than just curse, and because there was someone who showed her what a real home, a real family looked like so she’d believe in love and happiness again. but much like rin, sakura struggled to believe she deserved happiness. years of abuse crushed sakura’s self-esteem, and thought her suffering made her unlovable and unnatural. her desire to be both loved and pitied clashed against one another, and were also contradictingly one and the same. it would be easy to be pitied, that means she would’ve been right about her hatefulness all along and she can just fade away along with the pain her baggage might’ve caused others. but if she’s loved, then how will she ever make herself worthy of it? how could she ever justify to herself that she’s being given love that hasn’t been earned? and even worse, what if she’s given love that can be lost?

sakura hides all the things that risk her losing all the love she’s accumulated, a desperate selfish tactic employed by a scared girl deathly afraid to lose the only light she’s ever known. if all her anger, bitterness, cowardice, jealousy, scars, and self-hatred were exposed, what would shirou think of her? once he does find out what she’s gone through, she pushes him away. she really believes she’s done for and has nothing else to come back to. even as shirou keeps asserting he does still want her in his life, she keeps hurling all the terrible things she’s done to him and herself without him knowing: that because he’s kiritsugu’s kid she spied on him for zouken, that she used him to run away from zouken and shinji, that she tried to kill herself, that she’s not a virgin, all to get him to reject her for good while guiltily clinging to the hope that he will still choose to love her in spite, or because of all that.

even after sakura’s killed shinji by accident and transforms into dark sakura, a part of herself is weak towards shirou. a part of herself lashes out when he’s around because she’s still rejecting him hoping he’ll forsake her so he’ll live without getting hurt by her while also begging for him to see how much she’s suffering so he’ll save her, going so far at the end that she tells rin to run away with shirou, having decided to kill herself alongside the grail. rin however, sees through sakura’s attempt to earn pity, but in her own fit of duty-induced forced apathy threatens to kill sakura herself before sakura has the chance to wipe herself out (jesus, rin) rather than comfort her and tell her she wishes for her to live. rin though fails to follow through with her plan. just as she overpowers sakura, she throws away all her lies and embraces her sister, telling her how she really feels, and the very first sincere expression of love her sister has shown her in a decade is enough for sakura to stop dead in her tracks and crumble in grief until shirou arrives to save her and insist that she deserves to live so that all the suffering she both caused and experienced and all the people she devoured can be given meaning. this parallels into how kama as beast iii/L wishes to render all love obsolete by drowning the universe in love to the point where all love becomes meaningless and kama no longer has to be hurt by love, with their defeat marking a change in their beliefs about the world and themself.

parvati tells you as much that she’s taken over sakura’s good side. she’s the earnest hardworking woman who is full of benevolence and enthusiasm after her purpose has become clear. however, what parvati doesn’t understand is that sakura’s good qualities are intermixed with her darker ones and fundamentally cannot ever be truly separated, and that’s why parvati also connects with sakura’s tendency to hide the ugly things about herself out of fear she’ll be rejected, and that it’s wrong and harmful for her to do that to sakura as much (if not worse) as it is for sakura to do it for herself alongside all the people that could be affected by that dishonesty. 

apart from the obvious gross reasons, there is in fact a good justification for kama’s ascensions in fgo. their ascensions go from child to adolescent to adult to demonstrate that kama has a parallel to sakura’s personal growth. they are both individuals who, after being betrayed by their own kind (the gods and the tohsakas) and having their bodies destroyed (kama becoming the cosmos, sakura being devoured by crest worms and having her dna rewritten), have lost faith in who they were before and the world around them. kama starts out in sakura’s child body: the young girl who was sacrificed for a greater purpose and whose heart has been filled with depression, cynicism, and hatred for the world around her. their childish disposition however, marks that kama has truly been reborn and is going through the process of recreating their identity after it was shattered by trauma. 

when kama is in sakura’s adolescent form, that signals that much like sakura around that age, they still cling to some anger and bitterness, but have begun to ease into forming new connections and their desire to be identified with love becomes complicated as it is both heavily resisted yet profoundly wanted. it is kama at their peak self-loathing, directing hatred to themself as much as their child form did to everyone else.

when kama shifts into sakura’s final adult form, it marks the period where they both have had some of their faith renewed in their existence. while it is still very difficult for them to truly know what love is and whether or not they’ve earned it, they nonetheless make it clear they want to believe in it again with the help of the person they’ve placed their trust upon (shirou for sakura, guda for kama). as the god of love, for kama to learn what love is is for kama to once more understand what it is to love themself again, and like sakura at the end of heaven’s feel finish constructing their brand new identity and move forward in a way that their happiness and reforged self-confidence can dignify their suffering and make up for all the damage they caused others and themselves.

this isn’t to say that pseudos as a concept are inherently good or anything. they are still very flawed because when mishandled for fanservice (and it happens a LOT) they do far more to displease both fans of the mythological figures and fans of the original fate/stay night characters simultaneously than to appease them both by robbing all characters involved of their complexities. regardless, that doesn’t mean that these gods wearing the faces of these girls is entirely pointless, lazy, and thoughtless. on the contrary, these girls were chosen because of all the different facets they have that match their possessors’ demeanors and themes, and i hope that this knowledge can help people see the connection with more clarity.

[nyerus]

His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of XianLe -- Xie Lian

I wanted to do a little meta for Xie Lian to celebrate his birthday, about why he’s an incredible and unique character! One of my absolute faves. Happy Birthday Lianlian! ヽ(o´∀`)ﾉ♪♬

(Spoiler Warning!!!) (Also: massive length warning--get snacks!)

Xie Lian and The Hero’s Journey

One of the most interesting things about Xie Lian is that his personal arc starts near the end. Meaning that he is already nearly fully-realized by the time we meet him in book 1. He has only a few steps left in his classical Hero’s Journey, since TGCF starts in media res. A lot of his growth has been completed--which we witness more first-hand in books 2 and 4--so by the time we meet Xie Lian, he is already endured the most painful of his trials. It leaves him with the traits readers first pick up on: calm, confident, humble, and kind.

The main steps he has left to complete in his journey are the quintessential “atonement with the Father” and his “return home.” These stages of the Hero’s Journey are actually played somewhat straight in TGCF, and the former stage is actually the main plot of the novel. The stages are not meant to be literal, but metaphorical tools for literary analysis, as most books we read employ them in one way or another. TGCF does so as well, just out of order. So Xie Lian’s confrontation with Jun Wu (atonement), then getting his happy ending with Hua Cheng (return home) are the respective stages we see play out in the “present” narrative.

(However, he does have a “call to action stage” nestled within the present-time plotline. One can almost think of this as one Hero’s Journey nestled inside another.)

Xie Lian and The Heaven’s Will

The Heavens shook spectacularly when Xie Lian ascended. Each ascension, the Heavens greeted him with grandeur, even on what he considered his “fluke” of a second. And on his third ascension, the Heavens announced his return in a way that no one had ever seen before--by astonishing all its residents; bringing down the gilded palaces of other gods, and having the ancient clock sound off so fervently that it broke free of its hinges.

There is a lot of symbolism in this alone.

While Xie Lian’s narration (and the reactions of the other heavenly officials, including Ling Wen) paints his third ascension as a mix of comedic and tragic, we can interpret this scene differently. Xie Lian is the only one to have ascended thrice. He is the only one for whom the Heavens shook so powerfully. It isn’t because he’s a disgraced laughing stock--it’s because the Heaven know his true character, and his true strength.

(As an aside--see this post of mine about Heaven as an entity, separate from the Heavenly Capital and gods therein.)

It isn’t a big stretch to conclude that the Heavens show Xie Lian a particular amount of favoritism that it doesn’t to anyone else. One of the explanations for this could be that Xie Lian is the closest thing to the physical representation of the Heaven’s Will™.

This isn’t to say that Xie Lian is perfect. He isn’t, by any means. But he doesn’t have to be. Further thinking of the Heavens along the classic Taoist principles that TGCF draws from, the point is that Xie Lian tries. He works hard with what he has, embraces his fate and destiny, and makes the best of it as much as he can. Xie Lian himself doesn’t set out to be perfect. That is not his goal. His goal is to be a good person who is able to help people. He is morally upright, sincere, and humble. He seeks to maintain balance. These are treasured qualities.

Ultimately, he is human. He makes grievous mistakes, he makes bad decisions, and so on. But at the end of the day, Xie Lian lacks no conviction about his ideology. Even though he endured hell, and very nearly succumbed to darkness, there was always a part of him that held onto that notion that people were worth saving. Even at his worst, he still hesitated before causing harm. And when the man with the bamboo hat helped him--just a single gesture--it was enough for Xie Lian to rediscover that part of himself. His beliefs were re-affirmed, and he found the strength he needed to carry them.

The Heavens did not penalize Xie Lian for needing help. In fact, they rewarded him with ascension itself. When Xie Lian accepted his grief, he began to overcome it. He refused to fall into total despair--and while the actual nature of his second ascension are ambiguous, it’s probable that this is why he ascended. Not because he fought against Bai Wuxiang (because he wasn’t even the one to “win” that battle physically), but because he stood against him in the first place. Xie Lian’s grief, subsequent resolve, and decision to ultimately oppose everything Bai Wuxiang represented--THAT was his Heavenly Tribulation. And he passed with flying colors (much to Jun Wu’s intense fury).

[CONTINUED UNDER CUT DUE TO LENGTH.]

What it fundamentally comes down to, is that Xie Lian chooses to be compassionate. He does so even and especially in the face of adversity. Choosing to be kind when it is the hardest path of all is the mark of true courage and strength. It can’t be said it enough: Xie Lian very consciously makes the choice to do good even when it is hard for him. Even when he doesn’t want to. Because being a good and moral person doesn’t mean that you never have negative thoughts, and for sure Xie Lian gets frustrated and upse. It doesn’t mean you never make mistakes or never hurt people, because Xie Lian has done all those things before as well. After all, he is human, god or not. Things are not black-and-white, and never will be. But staying true to one’s ideals is what matters.

When Xie Lian made the decision to help Yong’An during the drought, for example, he knew it may be futile. He knew that he was breaking rules, going against what everyone else was saying. But he knew in his heart that it was the morally responsible thing to do. He is not the type of person to sit by quietly when there are people in need. He cannot see injustice and despair, and turn a blind eye to it. It also isn’t necessary (or even possible) for him to help literally everyone--as he learns the hard way. But doing what he can, where he can--that’s more than enough for Heaven to favor him. Because that’s the sign of someone who is genuinely compassionate and just.

So it’s no wonder that the Heavens favored him more than others. With a pure heart and strong sense of justice, while still being humble and patient--that’s all the Heavens need.

It’s even ironic that Xie Lian spoke out against the very “Heavens” themselves in book 2, at the height of his pride. But he was actually speaking out against the institution of heaven, and the overly-conservative beliefs that the gods (Heavenly Officials) held. Xie Lian has an extremely non-traditional view of looking at things.

His ideas go against the grain of what has been held true to the people of the world for centuries, but are actually in line with many modern philosophies--that one should not give much importance to idol worship, and instead focus on doing good deeds. That gods, being immortal ascended humans, should display the same humility and temperance; that they not hold themselves in higher regard or expect others to be subservient or fearful. This could very much be in line with what the Heaven’s will actually may be. Why the Heavens favor him so--because Xie Lian understands, in every sense, that gods are only human.

Xie Lian’s Character Growth

“I WON’T CHANGE! EVEN IF IT’S PAINFUL, I WON’T CHANGE. EVEN IF I DIE, I WON’T CHANGE. I WILL NEVER CHANGE!” (ch.239)

That’s the big thing about Xie Lian. It’s what sets him apart from many other characters. From the beginning to the end of his journey, his motivations and beliefs do not change. Only the nature of his motivations, and the basis of his beliefs change. That is to say, he believed that helping others was the right thing to do when he was 17 years old. 800 years later, he still feels this way. It’s just that he approaches the concept differently.

As a teenager, he was naive and coming from a place of high privilege. He was unable to understand the true plights of the common man, and his concepts of helping them--while still noble and morally just--were often somewhat patronizing. His heart was in the right place, but he was simply too young and too sheltered. He also fundamentally overestimated his own capability to help others, while underestimating the negative forces at play that would actively work against him. But 800 years later, Xie Lian has gone through hell and back. He knows better than anyone what it means to struggle, to suffer, to hope, to persevere. He still wants to help the common man, but now it comes from a place of understanding and humility. (The tragedy is, if he were allowed to grow up “normally,” he very much may have grown out of his naiveté and youthful arrogance anyway, after gaining more worldly experience. He was robbed of that chance.)

So Xie Lian chooses to be optimistic about life in general. He knows that he will get hurt by doing this. That people will take advantage of him. He knows, and yet, he continues to hold true to his principles. He neither asks nor expects people to thank him for it, or even understand him (as many people simply don’t). He does it because what other people think or even deserve is not his concern. It comes down to what he believes. That’s just the type of character he is--which is to say: fantastic.

TLDR; Xie Lian Best Boi!!!

[radley-writes]

“And I crumble to pieces // My body, my weakness is on the floor // And the wind will blow and blow // And I won't be here no more”

Meet the crew! / Vash / Buck

More about VOLT!

Spotify link

Name: Zeebe Adeyemi

Alias: Zeebs, The Kid, Pinkie 

Origins: Serafym Station – decimated by Jaegernaut raid, astraldate 75K2

Gender: cis woman, she/her pronouns

Age: 18

Record: trespassing, fraud, forgery, impersonating an officer of law, theft

Details:  The youngest Vulture, Prisoner 197825 allegedly joined the crew five years ago, aged 13. Reports indicate that she became a fixture at the same time as BVK-88. Considering the fate of Serafym, it is hypothesized that they arrived as a pair. 

Why 197825 would align herself with a member of the terrorist organization who destroyed her home remains a topic of speculation.

REPORT CONTINUES UNDER CUT

Strengths: Fit, intelligent, and level-headed. Though 197825 lacks conviction, she has, on occasion, proven herself capable of assuming a commanding position within the Vultures’ ranks.

Weaknesses: Self-doubt, lack of confidence, and what seems to be a brewing inferiority complex. Since the destruction of her station, 197825 has been raised by a criminal mastermind, a war-bred giant, and whatever Prisoner 197826 is – three individuals who have been modded to the extremes of human mental and physical strength (if they can be classified as human at all). As a result, 197825 is vulnerable to hints that she is nothing more than carry-on to the Vultures – or, worse yet, a burden.

[Addendum: before utilising this interrogation tactic, please refer to the previous prisoner’s file for information on the dangers associated with upsetting 197825.]

Danger rating: Low to moderate. Although Prisoner 197825 is not prone to violence, she has proven herself to be a pragmatic combatant, using her environment to her advantage. She may dither over decisions, but if her team is in danger, she won’t hesitate to help them - even if it means hurting other people (side note: she will almost definitely cry about this, afterwards). 

Far greater is the danger invoked by her close relationship with BVK-88. If you make 197825 sad, it is advised that you don’t let her run and tell mummy.

Hope you like Zeebs! She’s the baby of the team, and has a beautiful growth arc. Obligatory note that her relationship with Buck is WAY more complex than this report makes out. It’s written from the perspective of the space cops. And you never trust a cop. Even in space.

[munamania]

the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt:   “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.” 

“I know.”

read on ao3

 No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

 Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

 Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

 But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

 He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

 At least it got easier with time.

 All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

 Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

 He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

 But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

 Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

 They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

 In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

 But boy, was he a lot of fun.

 Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

 And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

 On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

 His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

 Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

 It stings like a bitch.

 His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

 At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

 “I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

 “Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

 A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

 “Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

 He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

 “You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

 For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

 Right.

 But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

 Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

 “Do I make myself clear?”

 “Y-yes sir.”

 The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

 But he stands up.

 And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

 And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

 It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

 “Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

 “Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

 Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

 “Richie—“

 Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

 Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

 “Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

 “Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

 Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

 “Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

 Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

 It takes a lot of work, as always.

 Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

 Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

 But he can’t do it.

 “Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

 “It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!  

 The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

 They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

 Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

 Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

 Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

 Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

 “Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

 “Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

 But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

 “Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

 When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

 He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

 Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

 Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

 “Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

 “Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

 Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

 “You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

 Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

 (Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

 Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

 “Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

 Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

 His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

 He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

 “Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

 “A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

 “Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for      fun    at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

 Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

 That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

 It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

 Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

 He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

 Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

 In a way, it’s heaven.

 “I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

 Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

 “I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

 A ghost of a smile.

 “Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

 Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

 “Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

 Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

 “Please, just stay still!

 “It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

 Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

 “Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

 “In the way?”

 He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

 “Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

 “Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

 “Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

 Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

 Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

 “Night, toots.”

 “Goodnight, Richie.

 Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

 He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

 Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

 What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

 But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

 Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

 Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

 But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

 “Eddie.”

 A muffled, “Mmph?”

 “Eds, wake up.”

 The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

 Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

 Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

 “Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

 The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

 And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

 And, sure, that’s terrifying.

 He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

 Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

 It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

 Until it wasn’t

 You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

 Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

 When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

 Just as quickly, he loses it.

 In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

 The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

 Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

 For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

 “Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

 Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

 “Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren’t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

 “Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

 “Some deals are made to be broken.”

 Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

 “Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

 A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

 “Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

 Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

 “Stop, please, fucking stop!”

 “Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

 It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

 Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

 “I don’t wanna die - ”

 Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

 “Fuck the arcade!”

 Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

 Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

 “Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

 He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

 But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

 That’s when it all goes downhill

 Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

 When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

 “Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

 “Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

 She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

 Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

 “Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

 Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

 “You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

 “How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

 She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

 Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

 “You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

 “Fuck you, Maggie!”

 She follows him down the hall.

 “Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

 Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

 “Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

 Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

 “It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

 “I love you too.”

 For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

 It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

 He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

 Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

 “What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

 That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

 Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

 “Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

 He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

 But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

 Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

 He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

 And he’s perfect.

 His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

 And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

 He doesn’t.

 Mrs. K knocks at the door.

 “Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

 Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed      nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

 “Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

 Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

 “Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

 “Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

 Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

 It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

 “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

 “I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

 “I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

 Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

 Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

 And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

 It sucks when Beverly leaves.

 It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

 He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

 New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

 A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

 It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

 And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

 It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

 He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

 But it’s nothing.

 The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

 At least his friends are smart.

 Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

 In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

 Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

 Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

 “C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

 “Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

 Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

 Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

 Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

 He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

 Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

 “As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

 Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

 Oh.

 Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

 Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

 So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

 Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

 Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

 Richie feels sick.

 But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

 Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

 Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

 “Bev would love this.”

 Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

 Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

 But it remains with them.

 It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

 And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

[nevertoooldtofangirl]

Back to my current obsession (ramblings to follow)

https://weheartit.com/entry/259434364 (source)

This picture is absolutely the perfect condensed summary of Taiyama in Tri.

The role reversal between Taichi and Yamato is a thing of beauty imo. Taichi is now the more mature one, the one who sees the bigger picture, the cascade of consequences, and feels the heavy weight of responsibility. As a result, he is more ponderous, more meditative, more prone to introspection and to silence, and far less quick to act.

Yamato, on the other hand, seems to hunt an ideal he made of them (and of Taichi) as they were all those years ago. He still sees things in black and white, and is still wholly embedded in the Chosen Child role he strived so hard to attain during their first adventure in ‘99.

I guess that explains so much and gives so much depth to what happens in Tri.

Yamato had a really hard time growing into himself and his crest in ‘99. He was a sensible kid, heavily burdened (and defined) by the responsibility of his brother’s well being. Shy, and with a certain lack of self worth born from the last however-many-years of having his emotional needs unattended by a workaholic father and kind-of-absent mother (“you’ve grown again” are not exactly the words of a weekly-present parent). He found in Taichi’s spirit something to both envy and admire, his admiration winning out in the end, and growing into real appreciation. To him, the time in the digital world was terrifying and stress-wrought because Takeru’s safety was always in question and his care was on Yamato’s shoulders. To Yamato, their battles were hard won, not only because of how scary and dangerousthey were, but because the inner fortitude and self-confidence in his crest virtue that he needed to attain so they could win was a constant fight he struggled with till the very end.

Taichi, on the other hand, seemed to be born to bear the crest of courage and their leadership. He was adventurous to the point of fearless at times, sometimes making him insensitive to other people’s reservations. He was goal oriented, and very adaptable. At the same time, he was very kind and encouraging, with an honest disposition to compliment everyone’s achievements and strengths and no desire to mock anyone’s weakness. And he is very aware of the weight of responsibility even in ‘99. So much so that it results in SkullGreymon. So much so, that it pushes Mimi to walk away from the group because she needs time to process the heavy burden of their friends’ sacrifice, and Taichi acts on the very true notion that they don’t have the time for such luxury.

But for Taichi, their adventures in ‘99 were not an excersice in learning self-confidence and teamwork. No, he had that in spades and in perfect balance already

No, for Taichi, ‘99 was a painful growth spurt were he came face to face with the worst of his faults and -worse in a way- with the faulty side of his virtues. Because his determination led to lack of empathy. His proclivity to action meant lack of fore-thought. And all of this burnt heavy at the very end.

And Tri shows all this spectacularly.

Character development has always been the best part of Digimon Adventure (and Digimon in general), but Tri goes above and beyond in this.

They didn’t forget a single detail about ‘99 and ‘02 when planning Taichi and Yamato’s interactions.

Because Taichi is a born leader because he has always seen a little bit more of the bigger picture. He is a little bit oblivious, enough that some societal constraints are past his notice, but very aware of his responsibilities to his friends and family; to do good for them and by them. He is determined to go forward, but won’t pull anyone that doesn’t wish to follow. And still, he will wait for them in utter confidence. He trusts those he leads blindly. Yet takes full responsibility for what his team does, because he is the leader.

And this shows in his internal conflict throughout the whole series. And through the painful decisions he makes with utter conviction. In his words to Hikari when he states that they must kill meikoomon. Taichi is being pulled every-which way by his responsibilities. To the people he protects, to the digital world, to his friends, to their digimon partners, to Meikoomon. And he is struggling with what he was, and with what he learnt in ‘99 that he should not be. Most of which, Yamato was the one to point out. Because Yamato was the only one who took Taichi’s leadership as something to be checked and held accountable. And from him, Taichi learnt to listen to the others’ opinions. To consider their fears when taking a course of action (should they go to Pinoccimon’s house or not?). To take time for mourning (“can we make a grave for numemon?”) and so many other things.

Yamato, on the other hand, has always been a little bit more selfish in his priorities. He is not self-centred, at all. But what he does, he does it focused on those that matter to him. First it’s all about his brother, then come the team, and finally, he goes to battle against Piemon because he realises exactly how much his friendship with Taichi means to him. He goes for Taichi and his comrades. His responsibility is to them, not to any grand abstract duty. Taichi is the one who gives them their purpose. He follows it for Taichi and the rest.

And Yamato is very much still enamoured with this dinamic. To the point I’m certain he has idolised it. And in Tri he can’t seem to understand that Taichi may have reservations, that he may fear and hesitate. Even when he says he finally understands Taichi (“the fear of losing something important”), he says it in fear of losing Taichi. He still can’t seem to place the lives of the strangers around them in the same consideration.

So he is pushing for the Taichi of old to take the leadership once again, while Taichi is trying to finally live up to young Yamato’s expectations of a more considerate, more reflective leader that takes into consideration not only the good he may do, but also the bad...

Man, this picture is perfect~

Tri is perfect <3

—rant over and out

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 16 - Glaucus

A dragon finds himself the target of a shape change. He goes from an imposing, draconic body to one more resembling a human woman! (2015 words)

cw: death, transformation, vore (kinda), tftg (kinda??)

There once was a yellow-scaled dragon by the name of Glaucus. He passed his days collecting gold, gems, and other treasures, devouring foolish knights, and kidnapping princesses. Unfortunately, as is the eternal woe of princess-kidnapping dragons across space and throughout time, humans are fragile. Over the days and months, each kidnapped princess would fade in beauty, and thus, in worth to his hoard. Naturally, the women who fell to far to the deteriorating curse of existence soon found themselves a new, very temporary, home in Glaucus's stomach. Yet still, this brought him no joy, for his hunger could be sated just as well with knights or deer, and consuming a princess meant sacrificing a part of his hoard for the sake of its continued beauty and elegance.

One day, he was approached by a human sage, clothed in a brown robe. Glaucus peered down at the man from atop his pile of gold. "For what reason do you approach, human? If you seek my death or the release of one of my treasures, know your quest to be futile."

The human raised his hands; in them sat a plain-looking box. "This is a herb with powerful magic," the robed man explained, "if you were to feed even part of it to any of your princesses, they would remain forever beautiful. It would be as though they had never spent days and months wasting away in your cave. In fact, so potent is this plant, their lives would outlast even that of a dragon's, despite being born as humans."

Glaucus carefully took the box, opening it to reveal a broad leaf from an unknown plant. "From which town come you, o curious human?" the dragon rumbled, "I grant no treasure for your deed, but mercy is a fine reward."

"I am born of and reside in Hillsire, dragon Glaucus," replied the human. "Such a reward is invaluable, and I will be sure to tell of your mercy to my neighbors."

"See that you do," Glaucus said with a slight smile. He dismissed the human from his presence, and curled around the herb, inspecting it and thinking.

Eternal beauty, and eternal life? Surely, he thought, those were qualities the rest of his hoard had, and it would be fitting to finish off the rest of it as such. And yet, the herb was not infinite in itself; if he cut away a leaf, it would not grow back. No matter how thinly he sliced it, what tiny portions he meted out to the beautiful princesses in his hoard, it would eventually consume the last of the herb. When that day should come, Glaucus would be faced with an ultimatum: content himself with the beauties he had collected thus far, and no else, or return to his current predicament, yet with the tantalizing, false hope of an eternally beautiful hoard in front of his eyes every day.

No matter his strategy, whether he choose the first princesses, or the ones most beautiful of each decade, or some further method, the result was still the same: the herb of eternity brought with it naught but limitations. Two knights arrived and fell to his fangs and fire before Glaucus finally struck upon a plan.

Having judged the humanity of his hoard unsuitable, and with the herb itself lacking in the beauty he required of his hoard, Glaucus devoured the magical herb, snapping it up in his yellow-scaled jaws as though it were the heart of a sacrifice offered for clemency. A great, flowing energy rushed through his body, and Glaucus felt his dented scales become flawless once more, gleaming as though shined just that morning. The dragon yawned and settled down to sleep while his body consumed and used the herb.

As the morning broke, Glaucus stretched, his scaly arms sending a cascade of coins rolling down their pile. Groggy, he sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. A yawn, and another stretch, and he froze as his hand brushed the wall of his cave, knocking away the tip of a tall stalagmite, which skittered down a mountain of treasure. Confusion gripped him as he brought the hand in front of his face, brewing into horror as he realized that the scaly, yellow, yet human-shaped hand responded to his command.

He shook his head and inspected the rest of his body. His scales shone, the dim light of the cave bouncing off of them in the most appealing of ways, and an old scar along his forear- along his arm, from a lucky knight's gash with a spear, had vanished entirely. In its place was a flawless stretch of scales. However, as he turned his head elsewhere, he realized that his head, wings, and tail were all that escaped the magic of the herb. As he stood up, taking a moment to balance on two legs, he noticed, too, that he was smaller, though he let out a sigh of relief when he realized he still towered times the height any uppity human who might think to take advantage of his new body.

Glaucus's belly appeared thin and maidenish, yet a hand run over it belied the truth of powerful muscles just beyond his scales. Worse, however, were the massive scale-covered lumps on his chest. With a hand under each, he lifted and poked them, finding that they were not nearly so sensitive as he knew a human's could be, merely providing form without function. Inwardly, Glaucus sighed - lactating was such a... mammal thing to do, and he was glad to avoid it. His hands explored his head, feeling out a smoother, yet distinctly draconic head. He retained his horns, though long growths of hair extended from the top of his head to just above his wing joints. Glaucus craned his head around to look at his wings, and was elated to see that they still responded properly, flapping a few times.

Resolving to check matters of reproduction later, the dragon curled his tongue up in front of him: still long, slender, and forked. He let fire build up in his chest, drew it up through his throat, and spat it at the nearest wall. A ball of flame exited his parted jaws, slamming into the rock and scorching it. With a satisfied huff, Glaucus strode from his cave, filled with a desire to work out his frustration. He glared at nearby Hillshire, yet, as savage as he was at times, he was a dragon of his word, and had promised to spare them his wrath. Besides, he admitted, the human in robes had instructed him to feed the herb to his princesses; he did not have a hand in Glaucus's current body.

The sun shone on the transformed dragon's scales; true to the sage's promise of eternal beauty, Glaucus could not stop himself from pausing to admire his appearance, before the frustration boiled up within himself. He leapt into the sky, wings flapping automatically to keep him aloft. With strange ease, he soared past Hillshire, landing with a growl before Sylvanwood. His roar echoed across the land, before he boomed in a loud, unsurprisingly yet still jarring, feminine voice, "you who would face a dragon, face me and your death, or live to see your village razed!"

"Dragon!" shouted a helmeted knight, "not a twig of this town shall burn. Your own life is... for... feit..." He trailed off as he approached. He flicked up his visor, regarding the yellow-scaled body towering before him, then averted his gaze. "It would... not be proper to engage you, fair lady."

Glaucus growled. The minor irritation of having to use both hands to easily lift the knight was merely the spark to ignite the rage the knight had further fueled. And, as dragons do on ignition, the knight was engulfed in a billowing cloud of flame, his grunt of confusion giving way quickly to a horrible scream of agony. Smoke rose from his limp armor when Glaucus snapped his jaws shut.

A second challenge was shouted as a second human came at him, sword raised. Glaucus spun quickly, slamming the challenger across the ground. He raised his sword against him again, but a single, yellow-scaled foot held him in place, unable to lift his sword or even kick much. Glaucus smirked and lifted the cooked knight to his muzzle. It was a greater struggle than he had had in dozens or hundreds of years, but he managed to swallow the defeated foe, temporarily rounding out his magically-trim belly. He noted with a taste of satisfaction that the eternal beauty held through gorging himself, and his triumphant figure was just as pleasing to his eye as when he had first emerged from his cave.

He scuffed the trapped human underfoot, then sent him skidding several meters away. The man coughed, gritted his teeth, and charged once more; Glaucus crouched down to catch him in his hands. "Admirable, you hesitate not in your duty."

The human tried to swing his sword at Glaucus, but found his arms soon caught fast, as well. "I will not be swayed by your wiles! Be you Glaucus with a new trick, or some other beast with his scales, I am sworn to defend this village from any who would seek to destroy it!"

Glaucus regarded him dispassionately, then pushed him back, standing and taking a step back, himself. "Well, fortune favors you; the first fellow," he patted his belly, "was enough to sate my ire. But know that, had you not been so lucky, that conviction of yours would see you join him, in the afterlife if not my stomach." With that, he turned and left, taking flight and easily outpacing any who tried to follow.

He landed before Hillshire. "Show me to the man who delivered to me the herb yesterday," he commanded a nearby girl playing at the outskirts. She took a terrified step back, taking in the sight of the dragon, then nodded and bolted into the town. From his vantage point, Glaucus watched her go, and swiftly strode to a closer point around the town. The man in robes left his home and turned to greet him.

"Dragon Glaucus, did not you promise mercy to the town?" Glaucus could sense the fear in his voice, yet his actions betrayed none of it.

"I did, and thus all I have done yet was create footprints around the perimeter. Tell me, human, was this," he said, gesturing to his new body, "the intended outcome of your gift?"

The man squinted at him, holding a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes from the bright yellow scales. "Ah, I see. No, we merely sought the mercy you offered; I would have attempted to bargain for it, should you have offered a material reward. How find you such a form?"

Glaucus folded his arms - an unnatural gesture for him, yet one he knew well from his many princesses. "It is inferior to my majestic, prior form... yet, I would not describe it as a curse. I suspect my opinion will grow more nuanced through time."

"Ah, I am glad to hear that," the sage said, "and know that Hillshire is a friend to the unusual. Should you return in a friendly manner, it will be met in kind. And as your mercy shows you a dragon of your word, it is my hope that you do so."

"I will not be dissuaded from my diet nor my hobbies," Glaucus replied, cautious.

"That is not my intention, and I hope the same to be true of my neighbors as well."

Glaucus flicked his gaze over the town of Hillshire. In addition to the humans he often saw roaming towns, he spotted, too, several griffons, a few members of the beastfolk races, and even an elf conversing with a coiled naga. He looked back down at the robed man. "...consider me advised on the matter," he ventured, then crouched to take flight, springing up into the air before angling himself back towards his cave to think.

[urbtnews]

A Cult and a Religion: How to Tell the Difference

A Cult and a Religion: How to Tell the Difference. In a world where individuals seek belonging, purpose, and answers, the allure of charismatic leaders and tight-knit communities can be enticing. But hidden beneath the veneer of shared beliefs and camaraderie lies a sinister reality: the dangers of cults. From psychological manipulation to tragic outcomes, this article delves into the shadow of cults, shedding light on the genuine perils that unsuspecting individuals can face. Before we dive into the downside of religious freedom, let’s take a look at the upside of religious freedom. - Individual Autonomy- Religious freedom allows individuals to choose and practice their faith or belief system according to their conscience. It respects their autonomy and personal convictions. -  Peace and Conflict Resolution- Promoting religious freedom can contribute to peace and conflict resolution by reducing communal tensions and conflicts. -  Protection of Minorities- It helps protect minorities from discrimination and persecution, ensuring their safety and rights. -  Human Connection- Religious freedom also increases the chances of human connection and interactions. It also gives one a sense of belonging. A cult is a group of unorthodox beliefs or practices deviating from mainstream or traditional religions. Cults all begin as a religious organization, but not all religious organizations are cults. Cults are initially led by a charismatic and authoritarian leader who employs manipulative and coercive tactics to control its members. These toxic charismatic leaders’ innuendos are to exploit, isolate, and psychologically manipulate their members for the benefit of the leader or group, sometimes leading to harm or abuse.      DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP Healthy vs. Unhealthy Religious Leaders Healthy Religious Leaders PICTURE: Panagía Paraportianí Church, Greece. PHOTO: COURTESY OF: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 (Dated September 23, 2020) A healthy religious leader respects their followers’ individual beliefs and autonomy, encouraging personal spiritual growth. They display humility and do not seek excessive personal glorification or power. Healthy leaders are open to questions and discussions, fostering an environment where members can ask for clarification or express doubts. They also have ethical convictions in respecting their followers’ boundaries and privacy. They are careful not to engage in invasive or controlling behavior. Their goal is to consistently implement unity without risking harm to their members or the integrity of their faith and personal convictions. They seek to promote harmony and peace, easy conflict resolution, accountability, and encouragement of free will in matters of faith. Unhealthy Religious Leaders PICTURE: A section of a memorial located at the Mount Carmel Center site listing the Branch Davidians killed in the Waco massacre. Across the top, Adventist leaders from Ellen G. White to Vernon Howell (David Koresh) are identified as "The Seven Shepherds of the Advent Movements". The Mount Carmel Center was a large group of buildings used by the Branch Davidian religious group located near Axtell, Texas, 20 miles north-east of Waco. PHOTO: COURTESY OF: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 (Dated May 31, 2022) Unhealthy leaders, or for lack of a better word, cultish leaders rely on their charisma to lure unsuspecting people into their web. The leader’s agenda is to seek and exploit, seek to control by using manipulative techniques to isolate members and implement members to obey orders without question, hesitation, or delay. The purpose of isolation is to manage and maintain other members within the group. It is part of a leader's agenda, and it dehumanizes those outside the group. Cult leaders and their enablers freely use fear and guilt at their leisure to maintain control over their followers. Power and control are the cycle and goals of cult leaders. When cult leaders can't maintain control over their followers, the consequences can be as drastic as death. Cult leaders such as Charles Manson, David Koresh, Jim Jones, Marshall Applewhite, and Peter Mosley are examples of unquestioning loyalty that caused harm and death. We all desire to belong to something much bigger than ourselves. A Faithful Reminder It is wise to remember that we are all here to serve one another in love and that anything outside of that as motivation could potentially put others in harm’s way. DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP A Cult and a Religion: How to Tell the Difference Read the full article

[the-gemini-cores]

Penance

Make sure to read Theo’s fic first, as this takes place not long after. 

Thank you so much to both her and @parttwoactuallywrites for inspiring me to write my first fic and also reading it over to give me awesome pointers. You’re each wonderful humans - I owe it to you.

~~

She was stationary in the doorway, partly out of view, looking from his sweating face to the butcher's knife hovering unsteadily over his forearm. He winced as shock molded her expression.

A few moments passed, but for all he knew it could have been a few eternities. Her eyes had turned questioning, pleading, yet so, so cold. They growled at him, screaming curses, while the rest of her guard seemed cautious. She was observing him.

He shrank under her gaze. He couldn't move, couldn't resume his work here, couldn't even consider standing and explaining himself. She'd frozen him where he sat, hunched over a desk against the opposite wall, a single light reflecting his weapon of choice but leaving most of the room appropriately dark. Through the few meters of cold gloom between them she shot that devastating, familiar look. It was how she'd regarded him for the past few days, though now it felt strong enough to turn him aflame.

He was unstable. He was an idiot. He had hurt her. 

The assertions built in his brain, transferred from her glare. He couldn't fling them out even if he wanted to, and he didn't want to, because they were the truth and they validated his choice and they would carry him through it and -

"Don't." 

It was a command. He stared at her, and she continued. 

"If you do it, I'll never forgive you."

Her voice was threatening, but desperation clawed at its edges. The sound was so unlike her, so his fault, he felt like he'd been slapped. He wished she hadn't come here. He never wanted her to find him like this, didn't think it possible she'd look for him and, if she did, that it would be with such remarkably bad timing. He thought he could do it quickly. Face her only after it was finished.

But here she was, much too soon, and there was no escaping the hint of betrayal that lined her tone.

She took a step forward and his body cringed. Without really meaning to, he braced himself, raising the blade higher. The glint of steel waved as he reacted. She stopped at once, looking torn, and a fresh bout of guilt streaked his senses.

Could he really do this? Especially with her standing there, watching? This was supposed to be for her, to set things right, to make things even. To show he was sorry.

She tried again, more slowly now, like she was handling a wild animal. Having few moves left and overwhelmed with uncertainty, he couldn't do much else than stay still this time, until a glimpse of red entered his vision. She'd come close enough that the bandage near her shoulder was revealed. It was soaked even now. Stained with her. 

Nausea washed over him, churning his stomach. Knowing what the once-white cloth covered and how it had gotten there, he felt like he'd been impaled through the ribs. A torrent of sights and sounds came rushing back. So much chaos, too little uproar. She'd been gushing blood. She'd been entirely unresponsive.

She'd been dying.

And no matter what she might have said after, he knew he was to blame. He had been the one in trouble. She had come to his aid. She had kept him safe, and she had paid for it dearly. The mantra constantly played, only getting louder as the days passed, to the point where it was eating him alive.

She hid what was left of her arm back behind the door. For a brief, gut-wrenching second, there was fear in her face, strikingly open, like she'd just made a terrible mistake.

He didn't see it that way. The view of her dismemberment was just what he needed - a critical, necessary reminder. It shook him, spoke to him, with a surety he’d lacked. The stump was concealed again, but its image remained, clear as if it had been painted on his glasses. It clouded his thoughts completely. He was looking in her direction, but he couldn't see her face anymore through the red, and her visage went unacknowledged.

To make her feel understood. To protect her from falling further into solitude. To selfishly keep himself from going mad.

He would do anything.

Such a short while ago, there hadn't seemed to have been much other option. The noise in his head had reached unbearable. He'd grabbed the knife without thought. He'd shut himself away, sat down, tried to breathe. He'd held his face, looked blankly at a speck of dust on the table. He was a bloody coward for hesitating. For being frightened of the aftermath, of her reaction, and holy God of the pain.

As his lungs stopped struggling he'd noticed the flow of air on his wrists, his own panting on his palms, and immediately thrust one hand away like it was infected. He didn't want any sensation from it. Neither the shaky piece of meat and flesh nor the dead appendage it extended from felt like a part of him anymore, but a growth. It was insulting. And it had to go.

That hadn't changed. He had decided, and he wasn't going to back out. She'd caught him, yes, but it didn't matter. She couldn't stop him. Not if he quit stalling and just got on with it.

He blinked away the red. It disappeared more easily than normal. He could see her face again, but instead of studying it, he chose to look away. Whatever he'd read there, it wouldn't help.

He turned back to the table before him, a long limb resting submissively on the surface. A couple of small gasps...

He'd have to be quick. Forceful. He couldn't afford to make a mistake and not tear all the way through.

"Wheatley..."

He barely deciphered the word. The tone, though, was still resonating in his ears. In sync with that wretched mantra.

He looked at his elbow. Strange how clean it was, as it was moments from becoming an incredible mess. There was a sliver of vague surprise as he noticed that the thought didn’t make him anxious anymore. He felt quite calm, in fact. 

All he could think about was getting this over with. Walking away successful. Sharing another scar with her. She'd be angry, and upset, but it'd be okay.

His right arm - the one he could still feel - had been holding the blade for a while. It was quivering from strain and he lowered it to the table. A short rest, one last respite, and he'd summon enough strength to do the deed. He thought this to himself, for it was fact in his mind, but then a noise made him pause. 

A slight exhalation of breath from somewhere by the door. He felt cruel an instant later. From his head, a crazed voice despaired that he might've just given her the wrong impression.

Moron.

As if to correct himself, he drew the weapon back up with fervor. Everything beyond the vignette of his vision was fog.

He took aim across the lines of his own upturned joint, expecting to feel empty, but somehow ... he actually found a semblance of comfort.

Peace. Resolution. It was there, waiting.

Because he was doing this for her - for both of them. The conviction was so relieving it nearly dazed him.

It would hurt, definitely, but that meant nothing. 

His hand no longer shook.

Her running steps fell on deaf ears -

"WHEATLEY!"

- and the knife came down.

~~

Part 2 here

[ofcloudsandstars]

Happy Sunday! Here's the forecast for this week! 

June 9th - 15th

It’s going to be an intense week that will force us to examine ourselves, our past actions and form new ways to break through obstacles that will grant us a new sense of freedom for the full moon that’s to come next week in Sagittarius!

June 09

Moon transits Virgo The mood of today will make us gravitate towards practical activities. In an urge to set things right we might find ourselves re-organizing and rethinking plans. Emotional satisfaction will come from solving problems, making order out of confusion and helping others. Health matters might come into focus. We might fixate on ironing out troubling matters so that we can feel more confident moving ahead. This moon favors the following activities: Mental pursuits, work activities, services and routines.

Sun (Gemini) square Neptune (Pisces) This is a great time to be a recluse and not do work at all (imagine if that were possible for all of us haha). Enjoy this Sunday by engaging in art and fueling your escapist desires into writing, drawing, running away into the woods and not returning etc. This transit might may you feel inclined to escape through substance abuse or media binging but to avoid any consequences the future might bring, try to release that energy through healthier outlets. This will not be a day that you'd be inclined to get work done. You will feel more stressed out by completing tasks than usual and worse other people  might cause some additional obstacles. It might be normal to feel insecure, guilty and apologetic which some worst people might take advantage of so it's best to avoid any important decision making on this day. Especially with Neptune's transit you might tend to see the best in people and this can lead to a chance of becoming disillusioned or if dealing with a particularly manipulative person they can easily deceive you. Over idealization and gullibility can lead to slander or loss. It's important to stand your ground on this day.

Magical Activites: Meditation, vision boards, divination

June 10

Sun (Gemini) opposite Jupiter RX (Sagittarius) This transit brings opportunities for success, good fortune and happiness. A lot may fall into place without too much effort making you feel like you have a lucky streak. Be careful to take it all for granted because this transit can also result in overindulgence which can lead to loss. Especially with Jupiter in retrograde forcing us to expand within this transit may make us examine our own behavior and motives giving the opportunity for personal and spiritual growth. Use this energy wisely to focus on completing tasks that need to be ironed out (with the energetic influence of the moon transiting virgo). The remainder of this week might bring challenges and obstacles but this transit can be a helpful boost in laying the right things into place. 

First Quarter

Moon conjunct Eros in Virgo The mood will be a longing for erotic intimacy that can bring emotional fulfillment. This conjunct can bring emotive passion and plans to conjure an appropriate hook up in your life. This can also bring light to hidden longing desires or bring about intense passionate feelings which can heighten insecurities or feelings of possessiveness. Eros in virgo is a position where we can express our passions or sexual nature through a giving side. We may have the desire to give ourselves to someone and find a reward through our services satisfying them.

Magic Activities: Road opening, attraction magic, sex magic

June 11

Moon Transits Libra Creating order is the focus, not necessarily through tidying or organizing as was the case with the moon's previous journey through Virgo but rather through pleasing interactions with others and our environment. We tend to solve problems through diplomacy and we are more able to put aside our own emotions in order to achieve the peace we crave. The tendency now is to avoid direct confrontations and decisions will not come easily. Seeing both sides to any situation will be the reason for hesitation. With previous transits making it easy to side with others despite their intentions being harmonious towards you, use this mood to find a diplomatic ground with them to establish peace instead of giving into their wishes which might not be best for you. Remember to set boundaries. This moon favors the following activites: relationship and partnership issues, activities involving teamwork and cooperation and activities related to beauty.

Magic Activities: Energetic Sheilding, Warding, Sound healing/balancing

June 12

Moon grows into a Waxing Gibbous, energy begins to heighten

Magical Activites: charging magical tools

June 13

Moon transits Scorpio The mood of this moon will bring intensity. As the energy of the moon heightens into its full moon position, Scorpio will exaggerate the climax. Whether its passion, elation, sorrow or desire, emotions are felt on a deeply personal level. We are motivated by the desire to get to the bottom of things and we instinctively read between the lines. This moon will urge us to uncover our own power. Its a great time to rid ourselves of old fears and limiting habits. It can be an intimate and passionate time. Avoid manipulative tactics and unnecessary suspicions. This moon favors the following activities: intimacy issues, psychological examinations, research and shedding away old things.

Magical Activities: Shadow work, divination, sex magic (orgasmic release/manifestation)

June 14

Mars (Cancer) trine Neptune (Pisces) This transit stimulates your sensuality and creativity. It also will make it an ideal time for passionate romances as attractions might feel strongly magnetic with a sultry charm. Sexual encounters would be compassionate, tender and spiritual in nature. If you are seeking love you are more likely to attract a less aggressive more spiritually inclined partner. You will be more in touch with the subtle vibrational energies that influence our lives and this energy can motivate you to express your creativity through the physical arts such as dance, music or sculpture. You will also have the energy to draw on strong spiritual courage and fighting spirit to defend yourself and loved ones. You can win battles now but more through acts of kindness than being on the offense. This transit will also bring out the desire and good karma for someone wanting to become actively involved in charitable organizations since your desire to help others will be based on strong moral and ethical convictions.

Mars (Cancer) opposite Saturn (Capricorn) This transit might bring frustration disappointment and anger. The frustration might be due to others standing in your way whereas disappointment will come from unfulfilled desires. With the previous transit mentioned this frustration can be focused on the lack of justice towards your needs or the needs of loved ones or human/animal/environmental rights. Even if you lack obstacles this could bring out the situation that you are your own worst enemy. Since this is a slow energy transit this can make your energy feel low and powerless. Don't feel upset if you feel unsuccessful, this transit will force you to face your battles with long term endurance. "This is a marathon not a sprint". Endurance is rewarded here. Any aggressive confrontations can be very painful and bring out bitterness in you. If someone is an obstacle towards you they might lash out today. You might find it hard to express your own anger but you need to find a healthy outlet so that it won’t build up within you. 

Magical Activities: Attraction Magic (for more spiritual minded friends, a sensual lover), creating charms especially with the intention for defense/protection. Journaling to relieve stress, protection for yourself or loved ones. 

June 15

Moon transits Sagittarius The mood here is optimism and joy. We are motivated by a need to seek the truth and are ready to pursue a new vision. We are not interested in details at the moment yet the bigger pictures. New experiences and adventures will satisfy a deep emotional need. Spontaneity is the key! New adventures, travel, higher education and sharing knowledge or publishing a product will be favored with this transit.

Magical Activities: dream oracling, nature walks, journaling for expressing spiritual insight and self examination

I wish you all the best week!