#this isn’t Neil’s final form but this is how he usually presents himself

[mac-monsters]

A vampire, a demon, and a werewolf walk into a bar

[ryderxmms]

folks ... it is i, chelly, once again to introduce you to another one of my children !! ryder is a goof. a musical goof. who’s definitely been Through It, but he’s a lovable guy and i hope you’ll feel the same way after reading all about him !! if you’d like to plot please like this so i can hit you up and shower you in love !!

tw: alcoholism, abuse, angst

                * : ･ﾟ･✧･ RYDER STELLAN SIMMS ･✧･ﾟ･ : *

— && guests may mistake me as ( chase stokes ), but really i am ( ryder simms + cis male + he/him ) and my DOB is ( 3/3/1995 ). i am applying for the ( bartender ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 207 ). i should be hired because i am ( relaxed & creative ), but i can also be ( despondent & temperamental ) at times. personally, i like to ( write music, play the drums & guitar, go skateboarding ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work.

this is another ... long read .... and for that i am so sorry listen the muse just be pouring out sometimes but like

TL:DR - ryder’s childhood was confusing and rough for the boy; his parents weren’t good together, in fact they probably brought out the worst in each other. his mother was a depressed woman for much of his childhood and his father was an alcoholic that could be abusive one night and a party the next. music was his solace through out all of it and ryder latched onto his drum kit and guitar for support. it’s just been he and his mom since they moved from seattle to chicago years ago and his sole focus has been on music and doing whatever he can to make it work. he’s got a band called one night stand and he’s really passionate about it & hope to get a record deal one of these days. really he’s just a theater kid, a goof, this loveable guy who will fight for his friends as the loyal guy he is, but otherwise isn’t rough or tough. he’s incredibly passionate and appreciative, like will literally give you the shirt off his back if you need it. he’s been through a lot over the years and he’s felt lost and empty at plenty of points in his life, but there’s a lightness to this boy/

connections: you can find ryder’s connection page right over here and would be open to any of them !! but i’d especially love to see a bandmate, flirtationship, gym buddy, or ride or die for this boyyo

*:･ﾟ･✧･ where it all began: in life, ryder’s always been pretty honest about how fucked up his life is, or at least has been, he grew up in a broken home, truth be told. his parents were far from perfect - just two blue-collared adults struggling to make ends meet. sure, they were married, but that decision got made after his mother found out she was pregnant and there was nothing overtly romantic about any of it. they signed the courthouse paperwork and got a couple of inexpensive bands from the pawnshop and called it a day. from there on, there didn’t have a whole lot of love in their marriage, let alone household, and truly a lot of undeserving resentment had fallen onto ryder’s shoulders once he had been born. it was painfully obvious that neither of his parents were too eager to have a child, especially not with each other and while still only in their twenties, but nothing about that was ryder’s fault; obviously. while his parents tried to show him that they loved him, that they cared unconditionally, there were so many conditions that came with being a member of the simms household.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ about to set fire: ryder’s mother was miserable, clinically depressed and attempting to self-treat herself for the majority of her life, but at the least she was still far more present and caring towards ryder than his father was. he was miserable too, but his father’s version of self-medicating came in the form of alcohol after a long day’s work at the factory. he would slump down in the recliner in their living room and flip on the television, barely making it through an evening without getting drunk. for the longest time, the concept of drinking and getting drunk confused the shit out of ryder. his father was an alcoholic, there was no denying that, but his drunken stupors weren’t always the same. there were occasions where his father was what he later found to be considered a happy drunk - playing on the floor with ryder and laughing so loudly it rumbled against the walls and dancing with his mother to the radio in their kitchen. but then there were nights where his father was a mean drunk - shoving ryder to the floor, yelling so loudly that it shook the pictures on the wall, slapping his mother in their kitchen. whatever version of his father he or his mother was going to get was a mystery, and when things were good they seemed great, but when things were bad they seemed dangerous. ryder never questioned his mom when she’d take him out for a long ride and make him stay at grandma’s for a week. never questioned when she would shoo him upstairs to his room so that he didn’t have to deal with whatever was going on. never questioned why she stayed, either. why they were subjected to any of this. that was ryder’s world, it was his life, and it wasn’t until he grew up a little that he began to realize just how wrong everything was about his household.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ change of pace: it was a shocking mid-fall afternoon, rain pattering down against the windows and into the bucket that was collecting the rainwater from the leak in their roof, that everything seemed to change. ryder’s father came home in one of those happy drunken moments and announced to he and his mother that he was in love with another woman and was going to move in with her, was going to petition for a divorce and that it was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to him … ryder was thirteen at the time and he understand what it meant to be in love, what a divorce meant, what his father was: a cheating, alcoholic, sick man. to be quite honest, ryder wasn’t even that upset about the news - he quite figured that it might be the best thing for he and his mother. there was nothing picture perfect about their family, but maybe, just maybe, they’d at least all be better away from each other. but of course, as with the happy drunken nights came the angry drunken nights, and while ryder’s father stayed firm on wanting to get out of the house and leave his mother, there were a whole lot more fights and a lot more shoving and punching and kicking and bruises. then there were afternoons where they’d meet with an official to sign paperwork, shaking each other’s hands at the end of it all … the relationship confused ryder, it made him question what was to be considered ‘normal’ in his own life. what he wanted for himself in the future. he needed something to cope with the insanity of it all, and that was where music really came into play for the seattle boy.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ crash bang boom: ryder had always found himself to be obsessed with music - specifically the seattle born grunge era and all things rock and roll. he found that the loud sort of aggressive music was the best at drowning out whatever argument was going on down stairs. he dove into the era of 1980’s white snake or 1990’s nirvanna, everything that came before and in between and after, becoming quite the officianto. his favorite thing in the world was getting to pound on the drum kit in the band department at school before his mother came to pick him up from school. he was usually unable to take the bus back home considering he was in detention, often, and had to be picked up later in the afternoon, but ryder had an incentive to be kept late. it was an instrument that allowed him to expression his raging frustration in a constructive way, and the music teacher at his school wasn’t one to limit ryder’s , uh, creativity. he started checking out books from the library to teach himself how to play, stealing drum sticks from school and bringing them back home so he could bang on some pans just to get an idea of rhythms. every single semester he took music as an elective just so he was able to spend more time banging on drums. he started to learn some of the greatest drummer’s solos - john bonham’s good times bad times, keith moon’s who’s next, neil pearl’s the threes - anything that inspired him and was performed by the best. it certainly wasn’t easy, and he had begged his mother every year to help him pay for a drumset, but that wasn’t really a possibility for the family. his mother was essentially on her own after the divorce; despite the court-ordered child support being in place, she very rarely got sent a single check. so ryder had to work with what he had and what he had access to, but that passion for music never went away.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ sweet sixteen: when ryder had turned sixteen, he and his mother had moved down to chicago as she had gotten a job transfer there. she was being promoted to manage the new hair salon mastercuts was opening in the city and the opportunity was too good to pass up. being the angsty little shit that he was, ryder only agreed to move without kicking and screaming if she agreed to help get him into either music lessons with a drumming teacher, or get him his own kit. and considering his mother didn’t want to have to listen to the banging of drums in her own shoebox of a modest home they were able to afford in san diego, she agreed to sign him up for lessons. every summer since he was twelve, ryder had been mowing lawns and had saved up a pretty good chunk of change that helped sweeten the pot so his mother would help get him the rest of the money he’d need. and they just figured out how to make it work, and finally ryder was able to be mentored and taught by someone who actually knew what the fuck he was doing. he started to hang around all of the band and theater kids that he was going to school with since he finally felt that his talent was being fostered and he belonged now. he was a real musician. that interest carried onto social media, as it did for mostly everyone his age, and he started scrolling through his instagram feed and every cover of his favorite artists on youtube. it led ryder to following a lot of kids his own age who were just as obsessed with music as he was, even befriending a few here and there. as soon as he was able to afford his own drum kit, after working endless hours dishwashing and bar-backing at any place in california that would hire his scruffy ass, ryder started petitioning to some local bands and groups to take him on. he was ambitious in only one thing in his life - playing music.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ one night stand: while ryder was pretty lax and even awkward in any other setting, playing in a stuffy bar even in front of three people was his comfort zone. he was lucky enough to be invited to play with a few bands over the years, always lying to say that he was older than he really was just to be let into whatever bar or club the band had booked. even when he was seventeen, he was lying to his bandmates saying that he was twenty one just so that they’d actually consider him. he drove around the most beat up 1999 pick-up truck that carried his kit and his ass to and from school, gigs, work, and for a long time ryder felt like he was living the dream. a kid like him, who grew up in the household that he did, didn’t deserve to be playing at house parties for rich fucks in chicago or dive bars in illinois. he rode with three bands before he found his ‘forever home’, and each one felt just as much like a family as the last, but sometimes even the good shit can’t last forever. bands would break up over the dumbest shit, like whos song was getting performed or wasn’t at a gig, over bigger shit, like someone having to move away or taking on a better opportunity with someone else. and for ryder, he just hated the inconsistency after awhile.

he knew that college was never going to be an option for him, and if he was going to do anything with his life, it was going to be music. it is all he has ever wanted to do with his life, but it hasn’t been easy and no one makes it overnight, even with the internet fame that one night stand was starting to get. instead of getting discouraged, as soon as ryder discovered an advertisement for the employee housing program at the malnati, and he knew what he was going to be off doing. if there was even a chance that he could serve a drink to some music producer, a tech, maybe even a recording artist … a talent manager or agency director … he needed to take the chance. he believe in his talent so very much and he knew that just going from bars to parties wasn’t going to be enough to get signed and actually on a real label that could get his music out to the rest of the world. besides, getting out of mom’s house and a place on his own sounded right, even if he was going to be living in a hotel. it wouldn’t have been the first time he did, and it wasn’t going to be the worst living situation of his life.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ when we started: ryder is insanely passionate about music, his music, and most importantly their band. while he’s a chill dude and understands that playing is as much a hobby for everyone in the group, it’s also something that he hopes to make a full-time career out of some day. ever since ryder was a little kid holling up in his room, trying to ignore the stinging bruises around his jaw, he dreamed of playing sold-out area tours in front of thousands of people and being able to stand there and the crowd in front of him sing back the songs that he had written, performed. he really believes in his band and their potential, encouraging them to write EPs and play whatever shows they could get hired for and to make the album that they’d been talking about for awhile. ryder gets very excitable about music, and it’s what he’s most confident in. while he may be a seemingly awkward or goofy kid otherwise, he’s an intense and confident drummer and that’s where his place of tranquility is despite all of the noise and chaos of playing. he’s constantly studying up on techniques and new drumlines and if there’s ever a time he gets to catch another band’s show, he liked to go see what everyone else is up to just out of curiosity. he’s a huge concert-goer and has been to as many warped tours as possible since he was a young teen. he’s crazy passionate, but he definitely understands that he may not be on the same wavelength as some of his bandmates, and that’s okay. their time will come when it comes, and since having moved out to chicago to be around everyone, he’s come to be really happy with that. they aren’t chasing radio hits and trying to figure out what the market wants - they’re making music that they like, that speaks to them, and they’re all having a really great time together just doing it. his mother is still close enough that he can go see her or give her a shout whenever he can, and he couldn’t care less about what happened to his father. ‘good riddance’ is all ryder would have to say about the man.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ don’t need nothing but a good time: by day, ryder bartends at the malnati making as many tips as possible, and by night, he’s out playing gigs with his band and most affectionately people who have become his best friends. he’s not afraid to throw a punch for any one of them, would also begrudgingly take one for them, too. he’s got a keen eye for which shots they should post to their instagram to gain the most traction, which definitely helps them out. he’s recently quit the nasty smoking habit that he formed looong ago, and now he fills that urge for a headrush with salty chips; it’s been a pretty effective cold turkey quit method, and ryder’s been proud of himself because of it. he’s enjoying himself as he is now, just another angsty kid trying to make it in the music industry, but it’s been something that he’s been able to transition into with the help of the people around him. he likes to have a good time, might take a little while to warm up to someone but once he does, it’s nothing but good vibes from there on out. he’s one of those selfless dudes who’d give you the shirt off his back and wouldn’t even expect a thank you. he’s a really appreciative person and passionate in almost everything that he does. he’s got so much soul inside his bones, and it shows in his music and how he interacts with those he cares for. there’s been a lot of times in ryder’s life where he’s felt shallow, empty, lost. but he’s rather found himself over the years as he’s grown into adulthood and has been able to provide for himself, and while he’s still chasing his dreams, he’s also riding the wave he’s on now and it’s been pretty great. there’s a lightness about him that might not be expected, but at his core that’s who he is.

[popwasabi]

How some stoners named “Harold & Kumar” made Asian Americans proud

Being Asian American can make you feel invisible at times or worst, the butt of every bad joke.

Sure, lots of Americans love Asian things like sushi, kung fu, anime, and tacky calligraphy tattoos that don’t mean what they say they mean but they don’t particularly care about having the people themselves present or even represented.

And typically when we are represented it tends to look like this.

Or this.

Or this.

(I said what I SAID!)

Now Asian Americans are not by any stretch the most marginalized or even the least represented people in the larger American cultural diaspora, but they’re fairly consistently forgotten or grossly stereotyped in our media regardless and this has larger consequences. Representation is important because it makes a people’s presence known to the larger majority.

Our pop culture has unfortunately played a role in erasing, appropriating, and misrepresenting Asian folk. An action movie may feature a white actor with extreme martial arts skills fighting in Hong Kong but might not have a single prominent Asian voice throughout the plot and those that do are typically gross caricatures. The Cyberpunk genre loves Asian aesthetics from its Tokyo inspired neon lighting, futurist cityscape, and ramen carts abound but boy, is the populace typically dominantly white.

(I love this movie but considering how many Asian things and aesthetic choices there are in it would it have killed Denis Villeneuve to have at least ONE background Asian person??)

It’s not shocking then that 2004’s stoner comedy classic “Harold & Kumar” starts with a pair of white dudes beginning their own adventure by leaving one of the titular heroes in the dust to do their dirty work because “Asians love math” or something. Despite not being a stoner, at the time at least, I related hard to this movie and its characters as the film touched on a number of triggers I had growing up.

2004 was a formative year for me as an Asian American. For the first time ever, my history classes were touching on Asian culture with discussions on Japanese feudalism which awakened a deep sense of pride I didn’t know I had at the time. I was watching NHK samurai dramas about Miyamoto Musashi and later the Shinsengumi which led to me begin training in kendo. Anime had suddenly become more mainstream with the premiere of Shonen Jump and pirated subtitled anime littering all of YouTube. But more importantly, and distressingly, I became more aware of my identity because it was increasingly getting called out as I was getting older.

I’ve been labeled a number of different pejoratives growing up through my teens.

“Nerd.”

“Weirdo.”

“Loser”

But none cut deeper than ��Chinese boy.”

I’m not Chinese, of course, in fact I’m half white and half Japanese but try telling the various ignorant lunkheads I knew growing up to respect and differentiate between them all. Hell, better yet tell them I’m just as American as they are too.

Being labeled “Chinese” hit a very personal chord with me. To lots of Americans, unfortunately, we’re all “Chinese” and the various qualities that make each of our cultures unique are inconsequential to them. We AAPI’s all individually take a measure of pride in those unique qualities and to have it all sequestered under a blanket “Chinese” label was beyond insulting.

(And I don’t care what you tell me or how much you hate China’s government, this is a THOUSAND percent a dog whistle.)

For Asian Americans, there have been various ways one reacts to these insults. Some of course, who learned confidence at a younger age, would shrug it off or ignore it, some would outright resent it but for me at least it only made me dig my heels in deeper. Yeah, I’m Asian, so fuck you!

That energy is deep “Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle” as these two Asian American characters not only navigate a crazy night of searching for an open White Castle to satisfy their stoner cravings but also confront various microaggressions from outside and within the Asian community.

Harold, of course, struggles with his confidence. He can’t stand up for himself when the aforementioned two white bros from the start of the film saddle him with extra work. He laments doing the typical Asian thing of being too passive when confronted by authority. He can’t find the will to ask the girl next door out because again he sees himself as an impotent Asian guy unwilling to make the first move. The whole movie he struggles with his inner feelings because he’s been taught and programmed to a certain extent to be timid because that’s the Asian identity.

Meanwhile, Kumar’s character is about resisting conformity to those same stereotypes but in the worst ways. He co-opts black and hip-hop culture as seen in his messy apartment room. He fights his dad who is forcing him to take his doctor's exam, something he doesn’t want. Generational pressure is common in all cultures but it’s an entirely different animal when it comes to the Asian upbringing. Kumar embodies this resist from beginning to the end of the film and though he does decide to take the test, it’s important that he chooses to do it, not his dad, and certainly not because he’s Indian. He decides that choosing to be a great doctor doesn’t mean he is becoming a stereotype because his identity is not just about being Asian.

(Every Asian kid has heard their parent make an unintentional innuendo.)

Harold and Kumar’s differing approaches create a charming pair for the film to bounce off as Kumar’s brashness often lands them in trouble and Harold’s timid demure keeps them down in its own way and the two finally come together when Kumar learns to understand the difference between conformity and choice and Harold learns conformity doesn’t define him.

Both characters confront all kinds of microaggressions against their identity throughout the film. Cops making fun of their names. The extreme sports bros making every racist joke every Asian kid has every heard growing up at them. All Asian Americans have grown up wanting to deliver the perfect comeback or “fuck you” moment against these types of people and when our heroes triumph and put them all in their place there is undeniable catharsis as it happens for everyone who has seen this movie.

(Seriously, there isn’t a more satisfying good triumphing over evil moment in film for me than the conclusion of this particular plot.)

The movie confronts stereotypes in more ways than one though. Throughout the movie Harold and Kumar are confronted by a situation that makes them think it’ll go one direction but ends up (usually comedically) the opposite. Harold and Kumar try to hook up with two beautiful transfer students who turn out to have horrible bowel issues. Harold is reluctant to go to the Asian American club party because even he believes in his own ethnic stereotypes of them but it turns out it’s a banger of a party with plenty of weed to boot. Harold and Kumar are picked up by a lonesome, disfigured tow truck driver and are shocked to find he’s married to a beautiful woman. And the aforementioned extreme sports bros turn out to love cheesy pop music and romantic songs.

Basically, the whole movie is about giving a big middle finger to all our preconceived notions we have about identity and it's brilliant.

(Nothing wrong with cheesy pop music, of course.)

“Harold & Kumar” is great for other reasons too. John Cho and Kal Penn still play greatly off each other. There’s plenty of great one-liners sprinkled between each scene. The entire journey to find White Castle burgers in the middle of the night is a fairly genius premise for a stoner comedy still. And Neil Patrick Harris playing “himself” is still iconic.

Parts of the movie haven’t aged, well of course. There’s some bad gross-out humor, some lazy gay panic jokes and not to mention some sexist quips that don’t land well in 2020. Also, let’s just not talk about the sequels.

(I still find this scene amusing though.)

That said, “Harold & Kumar’s” first film in this munchie saga is not only a grade-A stoner flick but simply one of the best films ever when it comes to bringing that much needed representation of the time to Asian Americans. Watching Harold & Kumar stick it to their annoying white antagonists while delivering a “fuck you” to every racist joke I ever heard growing up is still cathartic as hell and made me feel proud to be Asian American during a turbulent time for myself growing up.

Though it’s not Masterpiece Theater by any stretch, Harold & Kumar will always hold a special place in my heart and remains forever “high” on my list of favorite movies of all-time.

Happy 4/20, y’all!

[vanilla107]

The Best Present Ever (Dadvid)

Heyyyyy everyone!

Long time no see! I watched the Camp Camp season three finale and I just HAD TO WRITE SOME FANFICTION. Don't worry as there's no spoilers in this fanfic so if you haven't watched season three yet, it's all good! I adore how much effort the creators are putting into Camp Camp and I really do hope they make a fourth season! Dadvid is honestly one of my favourite things so I hope you all enjoy reading this and have a good day! Remember that likes and comments are always welcome! (But seriously if you leave a comment I will simultaneously combust with happiness).

Stay healthy! vanilla107 xoxo

Summary: It's been a year since David adopted Max and now it's David's birthday. Max wants to make it one David will never forget and with the help of Gwen, he opens up.

Relationship/s: Dadvid and Gwenvid

Read on A03

No M/a/x/v/i/d shippers tagging this as M/a/x/v/i/d please.

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

Max was a nervous wreck and he was sweaty as hell. It was David's birthday and everyone he knew was here: Nikki, Neil, Gwen, Space Kid, Quartermaster- every single camper from Camp Campbell. David’s house was decorated with streamers, balloons and confetti strewn on every surface.

David had adopted Max round about a year ago after his parents never came to fetch him from camp. It was a tortuous journey for Max, going through deep depression to uncontrollable rage and bursts of tears over the next few days. David knew that Max couldn’t possible stay at camp forever and there had to be a solution. Gwen was the one who suggested temporarily caring for Max until his parents came round but David didn’t want to foster care Max. David wanted to make sure Max was in a permanent place of love and if that meant adoption for a short time, then fine.

The hardest part was asking the then ten year old to let David temporarily adopt him. David was shaky and he knew Max would hate him for suggesting it but the camp didn’t run during school terms. When David asked Max, Max said yes without even thinking. In his mind, anything was better than his good for nothing parents.

It took a lot of time to get the paperwork in order and an even longer time for the authorities to double check if Max’s parents were never coming back and they finally give in to David adopting Max. The first couple months were rough, Max’s mood swings were off the rail and David almost lost his temper more than once. David knew that the adoption wasn’t supposed to last for so long but Max’s parents never came and after three months, Max stopped hoping that his parents would come and decided the he didn’t care anymore.

He needed to care about what was happening right in front of him.

As the two began to form a routine and get into the habit of living with each other, it got better. Max was still the same sarcastic kid who swore a lot but he smiled more and complemented David when he was feeling up to it. David felt like he knew Max better than before and the moments when they would watch tv and Max would fall asleep next to him, were the ones he treasured most.

Max took a deep breath in and tried to center his thoughts. He grabbed a chocolate cupcake off the table and shoved it into his mouth to try and ease his nerves. The music was an upbeat guitar instrumental and David had really gone all out with food. He had spent the entire day in the kitchen making cakes and finger foods and all of his hard work had really paid off. Everyone was mingling with each other and Max knew that the minutes were ticking down to the moment he was waiting nervously for.

"Max?"

He snapped out of his daydream and looked up and saw Gwen, who looked worried.

Gwen and David had been dating for a while and sometimes Max confided in Gwen when he felt like he couldn’t talk to David. Since Gwen had a degree in Psychology, it was easy for him to talk to her about certain issues that he knew David would not be able to handle.

"Max I know you’re tense but...if you feel that this is too...much...you don't have to do it now."

Max took a deep breath. "I know...but I want to do this. You have the camera?"

Gwen grinned and produced a Polaroid camera.

"I got you, Max. Now, let's go and mingle. I can't have you sweating in a corner for the whole party."

She took his hand and walked outside where David and all the other campers were. He had a glass of juice in his one hand and a chocolate eclair in the other. He popped the eclair into his mouth and nodded at something Nerris was saying. He was talking to Nerris and Ered but when he saw Max his whole face lit up with happiness.

"Max!" David smiled and excused himself from Ered and Nerris. He walked over to the eleven year old and knelt down.

"I was getting worried since you walked into the house and you didn't come back for a while...is everything alright?" David asked his brow furrowed in concern.

Max rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile on his face.

"Psh David, I just needed to get your present in order."

David gasped.

"You got me a present!?"

"Uh, yes? Isn't that what people usually do for birthdays?"

David beamed with happiness and clapped his hands together.

"Well then let's not waste another minute!"

"Wait David- we don't have to open the presents right now!" Max said in a panic.

Gwen came to his rescue and made up an excuse.

"David wait! We first have to sing happy birthday and cut the cake!"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" David exclaimed and skipped happily to the kitchen.

"Thanks Gwen," Max said softly and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Don't mention it. Let's go have cake and try to not be so on edge okay?"

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

"Dang, David makes a good cake!" Nikki smiled and patted her stomach.

"I'm happy David had the sense to make two cakes...Nikki nearly ate more than half of the first one." Neil laughed and Nikki stuck her tongue out at him.

Max stuck his fork in his cake and nodded and tried to keep the nervousness down. David was already done and looked very excited to open presents.

Everyone gathered round as David opened his presents. A watch from Neil, pinetree scented room spray from Nikki, dumbbells from Nurf, a helmet and knee pads from Ered, a framed painting of all all the campers from Dolph, a ‘magical’ wooden amulet from Nerris, a gift card for improv acting lessons from Preston, a cactus from Harrison, a book with 100 new campfire songs from Space Kid (everyone groaned when they saw the gift but David was ecstatic), a baseball bat from Quartermaster and a new 1# Counselor mug from Gwen since the last one had broke.

Max's present was last and Max could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Gwen put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and have him a supportive look.

David eyed the green package and grinned at Max.

The first gift was a knitted green beanie that Max had knitted himself. The second was David's favourite chocolates.

"Oh...I need to read this out loud?" David asked as he pulled out a thick envelope and looked at the first note.

Max nodded and watched David open the rest of his present. Max’s stomach was churning and he felt sick as David pulled out a stack of papers and read the note on top.

"David, happy birthday! You're one year older. Congratulations. This present is probably hands down the best present you'll ever get."

This brought a few laughs and David raised his eyes at Max who smirked. He felt the nervousness slip away and watched David as he began to read.

"Last year, a week after your birthday, you adopted me and all the paperwork was done. I finally got to go home with you."

Max was holding his breath and he could feel everyone's eyes on him and David.

"The adoption process was long and tiring but I'm happy I'm with someone who cares about me."

David's voice wavered and Max swallowed a ball of of uneasiness.

“I know I wasn’t the easiest kid. I’m still not the easiest kid but you somehow manage to still make me feel a little more happy everyday that goes by.”

David paused and took a deep shaky breath in.

“I want you to know that even though I have my really bad days, you still make me happy. I know it may not always seem like it, but I am. I remember how often we didn’t meet eye to eye at first but now we hardly have disagreements. I finally feel part of a family.”

Max’s stomach was coiled tightly in a knot as David read the final lines on his note.

"Which is why..." David trailed off and stared at the page. He then held the page in one hand and the thick stack of paper in the other. The thick stack was stapled together and David’s eyes flicked through all the pages.

David was quiet and he looked at Max.

"Are...are you serious?" his voice was laced with emotion and his eyes was welling up with tears.

When the adoption papers had been signed a year ago, Max made it known quickly that he never considered David as a parental figure. Max had done a lot of thinking since that day and he felt that today was the right time.

Max slowly walked over to him and looked up at David.

"I...I want to be part of this weird family thing...I know that I’m asking a lot and I know that once this form is signed there’s no going back but-”

“You...you know that you’re giving me the full rights and responsibilities towards you as if you were my own child...?”

“Yes David, I know! I’ve read the fine print and thought a lot about this and I’m fucking sure! Now can you please for the love of God just say yes?” Max exclaimed.

David was silent and for a minute Max thought he was going to reject his offer. After a pause David looked at the boy with a smile and tears of happiness dripping down his cheeks.

“The answer is yes, Max. You...you can officially take my surname and I will officially adopt you as my own.”

David opened his arms for a hug and Max’s and his vision became blurry. Without a second thought he hugged David, the scent of pine feeling all too familiar and comforting.

Cheers filled the air and Max was pretty sure Gwen was crying and taking pictures at the same time.

“Yes! Way to go Max!” Nikki yelled and grabbed Neil and began dancing with him. Neil was too happy to protest and tried to match Nikki’s steps.

“Now that’s hella cool,” Ered nodded and Nerris grinned as she whispered, “Family obtained. Leveled up.”

Everyone was happy for the family and the party was in full swing. Max had fun but that didn’t stop him from causing a little mischief by setting off fireworks.

Once the party had ended and everyone had left, Max had fallen asleep on the couch while David and Gwen cleaned up. David smiled at the sleeping boy and Gwen nudged him.

“Go on. Tuck him into bed and I’ll clean up the rest down here.”

David smiled and looked at the boy he could now call his son and picked him up and took him to his bedroom.

David tucked Max into bed and gently kissed him on the forehead.

“Goodnight Max...I love you.”

David felt a little vulnerable saying those words to Max since the whole feeling of being his actual parent was real and solid now...but he meant it.

As David walked out of the room he heard a muffled voice from behind him freeze.

“Goodnight David. I...I love you too.”

David couldn't help a few tears leave his eyes as he walked out of the room with his heart full of love. When Gwen saw him downstairs, she hugged him.

“Max has been planning this for a while now,” Gwen whispered.

“He has?” David asked, his voice getting wobbly again.

“Remember what he said David. He may have his bad days but you make him happy. You make him feel part of a family,” Gwen said and kissed his temple lightly.

David buried his head into Gwen’s shoulder and sobbed, the emotion too much for him and she gently rubbed his back.

Upstairs, Max fell asleep finally feeling that he was part of a family that cared and loved him. He wanted David to just propose to Gwen already but everything has a time and a place. David was now his official guardian and no one could take that away from him.

[mysterykidscasefiles]

Mystery Kids and the Case of the Whispering Rock

Summary: Norman, Neil, Coraline, Wybie, Raz and Lili arrive at Grunkle Stan’s Summer Camp with the hope of having a summer of fun, or in the case of the two Psychonauts, with the intent of investigating a psychic disturbance. When they meet two twins that seem to be experts on the secrets of Gravity Falls, they find themselves reluctantly teaming up. But how much can they actually trust each other? There are secrets in this town, but more surprising are the secrets being kept from each other.

Table of Contents

Chapter 17: Coraline’s Nightmare

“Lili, wait!” Raz called after her, but the door to the Shack had already slammed closed behind the angry girl.

Raz followed after her quickly and yanked the door open, the worn wood of the door protesting loudly against Raz’s harsh treatment. He stepped inside and scanned the Shack for Lili. He found Stan slumped over asleep in his armchair; the glow from the TV flickered across Stan’s face as some black and white soap opera continued to play.

Lili was nowhere to be seen, so in a move that was as reflexive as breathing, Raz opened his mind and reached for her in hopes that her emotions would help him locate her faster.

Instantly, Raz was hit with an unexpected wave of regret and self-loathing that caused him to recoil and take a step backwards. He quickly sensed that these emotions were not from Lili. They lingered from a time long since passed and hung in the old Shack in the form of psychic residue. Usually, psychic residue would decrease overtime, but the maelstrom of betrayal, loss, and desperation clung stubbornly to the walls of the Shack like an old grudge. Regret was a bitter taste in the air, and Raz could almost swear he could hear long forgotten words that were never said but should have been.

Raz gritted his teeth and took a step further into the house. His instincts told him to shield his mind again until the psychic residue was once more nothing but a muted murmur in the back of his mind, but he had to find Lili, and the quickest way to do that was to keep his mind open and search for her.

However, the longer he left his mind open, the more Raz could feel himself self drift deeper and deeper into the kaleidoscope of emotions the old Shack contained. He could tell the psychic residue came from at least two different people, one lost in the throes of desperation and paranoia and the other just… lost.

Raz got the distinct impression that he… no not himself, but one of the people who left such an imprint in the Shack (although it was getting harder to tell the difference between where his emotions ended and the other’s began...), had lost something important. Something as a part of him as an arm or a leg. Something irreplaceable.

No… it wasn’t something… it was someone.

An unshakable, feeling of hopelessness crawled up from below the floorboards and clawed at his chest, it’s fingers winding around his heart and squeezing until he could barely breathe.

What have I done?

This is all my fault…

I need… I need to get him back!

Raz gasped, his heart pounding wildly as he yanked mind away. He forced his lungs to take a deep breath, and he used everything he could remember from his Psychonauts training to untangle his own emotions from the residue.

Raz stared down at the floorboards where the most intense emotions were seeping up from. Did this place have some sort of basement, and if it did, what in the world had happened down there so many years ago?

Raz took a few breaths to steady himself and he continued to break his mind free from the psychic residue. These impressions left behind seemed almost familiar in a way, but Raz knew he couldn’t dwell on them any longer or he would risk getting sucked in again. His extra sensitivity came in handy as a psychonaut, but right now it would only burden him if he couldn’t learn to control it.

He forced himself to focus on only the newer emotions. He thought of Lili, how she was probably feeling right now, and it didn’t take long to locate her once he had managed to orient himself properly to the emotions in the Shack. He could sense her in the room the twins had introduced them to as the guest room.

Raz followed followed Lili’s emotions and hesitated before the door, the waves of anger and hurt coming from Lili only made him feel more nervous about entering. Raz thought about knocking, but he pushed the notion aside and entered the room. He knew full well that Lili had already sensed him, and she wasn’t one for pleasantries, especially not when she was this upset.

He found her sitting on the ugly orange couch with her arms crossed and her back half turned away from him.

“Lili…” Raz said softly as he closed the door behind him.

“Save it, Raz,” She cut him off harshly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I think we need to talk about it.” Raz insisted cautiously as he moved to sit on the couch next to her.

Lili shifted further away from him and he sighed.

“Lili?” he prompted again.

Silence was his only answer. How was he supposed to do anything to help her when she shut him out like this?

Gently, Raz mentally reached out to read her thoughts, but he wasn’t surprised to find she had put up a mental block between them. Not even a passing surface thought would get through the barrier she carefully constructed around her mind.

Raz mildly wondered if she had blocked her thoughts and not her emotions because she wanted him to know how angry she was, or if in her anger, she had forgotten to hide her emotions.

Raz knew that he could push through into her head. Lili was a powerful psychic, but he had her beat when it came to mental defenses and he could find a way to get through her barrier if he tried. However, he knew that invading her privacy would only make things worse between them. She had to want to talk to him, and right now, it felt like she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Raz sighed and leaned back against the couch. He had no idea what happened, or why Lili had gotten so upset. He and Lili fought occasionally, but usually when they did, they would argue, get their points across, and when things had finally cooled down they would figure out a solution. It was a pretty good system, and as partners they needed to be able to work together even when they had conflicting ideas.

However, this was different. Now Lili was just shutting him out! How was he supposed to make anything better if she wasn’t willing to talk about it?

“Are you mad that I didn’t agree with you or that I didn’t back you up?” Raz asked finally.

One of the first things the Psychonauts taught them were partnered Agents were always supposed to present with a united front. Even if they disagreed with each other privately, they weren’t supposed to let it show to others when they were on a case. If their enemies sensed that they lacked cohesion, then that could be used against them. Raz had to admit, he probably could have handled his response better, but she had asked him the question so suddenly he hadn’t known how to react without lying.

Slowly, Lili unfolded her arms, but she didn’t turn around to look at him. “Both, I guess…” She admitted softly. “I just didn’t think that you would disagree with me.”

Raz looked over at her in surprise. “Lili… do you… do you really believe that?” he asked. “Do you really believe that normal people can never accept psychics?”

To Raz’s surprise, Lili turned to face him and there was a small, pitying smile on her face. “Sometimes I forget how new you are to the psychic world.”

“What do you mean?”

Lili sighed to herself and pulled her feet up on the couch until she sat cross legged. She was staring down at her hands in her lap, her expression distant.

“Did you ever ask any of the kids in camp what their life was like before they came to Whispering Rock?” Lili asked. “Did they ever tell you about their family or the kids at their school?”

Raz gave his girlfriend a look. “I was a little busy, Lils. I was trying to gain every merit badge before I was forced to go home, and then there was that little matter with everyone’s brains being stolen.”

Lili rolled her eyes. “I thought so.” Her eyes met his gaze again. “Well, if you had talked with them more, you would have heard the same story again and again. Psychic kids with normal parents who don’t know what to do with them, so they ship them off to a psychic summer camp.  Sending them away is easier than having to deal with their kid’s weird powers. Of course that’s not true for all of the kids. Some of them come from psychic families, but not all of them are as lucky.”

“Come on, I’m sure not all non psychic parents are looking for an excuse to get rid of their kid,” Raz reasoned. “Most parents want what’s best for their kid, right? They can’t teach their kid how to control their powers, so they sent them to Whispering Rock to get the training they need.”

“And I’m sure that’s exactly what they tell themselves,” Lili said spitefully. She paused and seemed to be carefully considering what she was going to say next. “You went into Doctor Loboto’s mind in the Rhombus of Ruin. I read the report. His parents feared and hated him for being psychic. Unfortunately, this isn’t uncommon for psychic children who have normals for parents. Even at school, psychic children get shunned by the other kids and teachers. Many normals can tell that there is something different about them, even if they can’t tell what it is. And psychic kids feel like outcasts, because they have to hide who they really are.”

“Luis said something about that happening at his old school,” Raz noted. “And you said you had the same problem with your school too. You said it was best for psychics stick with their own kind.” Raz felt like he was looking at his girlfriend anew. During the conversation earlier that day on the lakeside, Lili had mentioned she never felt like she got along with normals. That conversation had worried Raz a little bit, but he had mostly chalked it up to Lili not wanting to be social. It wasn’t until now that he realized that she truly believed that friendships between psychics and normals were impossible.

“I guess…” Raz said, trying to wrap his head around this new realization. “I guess I didn’t realize how strongly you felt about this.”

Lili shrugged. “Most of the psychic world feels the same way.”

“But-”

Lili cut him off with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry Raz, I know your mom’s not psychic. I wasn’t trying to say anything about your family. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s okay, Lili. In a way, you’re right. My mom is still trying to get used to the psychic thing. My dad too, and he actually is psychic.”

Lili nodded thoughtfully. “It’s okay if we don’t agree on everything, but while we’re working on a case we can’t disagree openly like that. We need to be a team.”

She gave him a pointed look and Raz nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay… I didn't exactly handle it the best,” Lili admitted, playing with the end of one of her braids. “I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“It’s been a long day,” Raz supplied. “We’ll both do better next time, right?”

She smiled for a split second before it faded. “Raz… I know we don’t agree on this, but I have to warn you. Just because you feel comfortable blending in and being friendly with normals, doesn’t mean they wont turn on you the moment they find out you’re a psychic. Normals will never be comfortable with what we can do and it will always scare them.”

Raz opened his mouth to say something, but Lili cut him off.

“I know you don’t want to hear that, but that’s just how it is. You might be able to blend in, Raz, but you will never fit in.”

If Raz was anyone else, that statement might have been too harsh and would have caused him to draw away from her. Instead, Raz reached over and grabbed her hand. Lili blinked at him in surprise and gave him a curious look.

“Good thing I don’t care about fitting in then,” he said with a cocky smile. “Standing out is much more fun.”

Lili laughed and shook her head. “You’re such a show off, Raz.”

Raz chuckled, happy that he had been able to lighten the mood, but as his laughter died away, he thought back to what she said. Maybe Luis’s parents would never have been able to accept him. Maybe they would have feared his ability and that would have pushed him away more. Maybe Lili was right. She obviously knew more about this stuff than he did.

However, he couldn’t help but still think this generalization about normals and psychics was a bit ridiculous. Maybe it had to do with his circus family and how even though he was psychic, he now understood they would accept him no matter who he was or what he could do. It was an adjustment for the family, but they still loved him.

Lili tensed and he felt the presence of the other kids coming down the hall. Lili pulled her hand away and stood up just before the door opened. Raz followed her example and stood next to her.

Coraline was the first to enter and her eyes quickly took in their awkward expressions. “If you guys are making out might I recommend the twins bedroom?” Coraline suggested while gesturing to the ceiling.

“What? Ew! No!” Dipper protested.

“Kidding, kidding, Pines,” Coraline soothed with a laugh. “What, only your sister got the sense of humor in the family?”

“And the sense of fashion,” Mabel chimed in as she and Neil lead an exhausted Norman onto the orange couch. As soon as they laid Norman down, his eyes closed and didn’t open again.

“How’s he doing?” Raz asked, eyeing Norman with concern. The boy was even paler than the last time he saw him a few minutes ago and the bags under his eyes made it look like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Norman’s life-force had always been difficult for Raz to sense, but combined with the fact that he currently resembled a corpse more than a sleeping person, Raz couldn’t help but worry.

“I think he’ll be fine,” Dipper said as he pulled the blue blanket that had been laying on the headrest of the couch over Norman’s body. “His breathing and pulse are both steady. I think he’s just really tired.”

“Well, out of everything that could have gone wrong today, my cousin passing out is probably best outcome we could hope for,” Coraline said. “We were… surprisingly successful.”

“Yeah, we achieved a lot together,” Neil agreed. “We went to the lake, we explored a haunted house, and we even helped Luis talk with his parents again!”

“And that's just on the first day here,” Coraline added with her hands on her hips. “Neil’s right, we did do a lot, and you guys weren’t too shabby at it either.”

“So, camps not too boring, huh?” Mabel hinted with an enthusiastic grin.

Coraline glanced at Wybie who shrugged.

“Terrifying, but definitely not boring,” Wybie admitted. “And if we called your parents and went home now, you will be complaining about what you might have missed out on all summer,” he said to Coraline.

Coraline frowned at her best friend but didn’t correct him.

“Besides,” Wybie added. “It’s not like this ‘camp’ is going to get any scarier than psychic ghosts, and you did want an adventure, Jonesy.”

“Okay, okay,” Coraline relented. “This camp might be a scam, but it might be worth it to stick around for a bit, as long as Norman is okay with it.” She frowned down at her sleeping cousin. “He was able to help Luis, but he ended up putting himself in danger. He might not want to stay after that.”

“You really want to stay?” Dipper asked in surprise “Even with that Other Mother thing after you?”

Coraline shot him a tired glare. “It looks like it doesn’t matter where I go, she can still find me. Plus, running isn’t my style. Now come on,” Corline ordered. “Norman has the right idea. Let’s all get some sleep.”

Coraline was the last one, besides Raz, to fall asleep that night. The twins had left for their beds in the attic, Norman was still asleep on the couch, and everyone else was in their sleeping bags on the floor. Coraline, Wybie, Neil and Norman had been smart enough to bring small air or foam mattresses for an inch of extra comfort. They offered Norman’s mattress to Raz and Lili, but they had both turned it down, since their sleeping bag were padded. It was standard issue for psychonaut agents.

Coraline’s cat was curled up against her side sleeping peacefully. Raz wondered when the cat had arrived and how it managed to figure out where she was staying. Coraline had offered no explanation and had acted like this was a common talent most cats possessed.

When Raz was certain Coraline was asleep, Raz mentally reached into her mind. He needed to find out more about this Other Mother creature in order to figure out if it might have something to do with the psychic disturbance he and Lili were looking for.

The surface thoughts of her dream were easy for him to hear, but he needed to go deeper. He needed to see what she had seen, and to do that, Raz had to access her memory. He could have done this when she was awake, but searching through her memories had the possibility of causing Coraline to relive them. If this happened, Coraline might try and suppress them, especially if they were particularly upsetting, and that would make the memories harder for Raz to access.

Raz could have used the psychic door and enter Coraline’s mind as an astral projection, but he would need special permission to use the door on a minor. In addition, although the psychic door allowed for a better understanding of a person, it wouldn’t necessarily lead to the memories Raz needed to see, since the mental world was more abstract and symbolic.

Raz shifted through Coraline’s memories and just focused on one word: Other Mother.

There were walls and barriers surrounding those two keywords that were impressive for a non-psychic to construct. The harder Raz had to push, the closer he knew he was getting. Finally he reached a mental image of a small door barely big enough to crawl through. The door was locked so he had to step back from this image and search for the correct key within her memories. It took a few minutes, but he finally found it hiding in a deep hole in her subconscious. It was a black key with a button on the handle. He knew for certain it was the right one, because the same feeling of dread that was emanating from the small door was also emanating from the key.  He turned the lock with the key and found himself in the place Coraline never looked, but always carried with her.

I’m your other Mother, silly.

Colors and lights and warmth. It was all so fantastical, and it was all for her.

You could stay here forever if you want to.

‘Yes, please!’ screamed every fiber of Coraline’s being. It was better than any dream she could ever conceive. Why would she ever want to leave?

There is one tiny little thing we need to do…

Buttons?

For you, our little doll.

The sudden terror that shot through her froze her to the spot.

I want you to let me go!

Where are my parents?

She had never felt so small and childlike. This world used to make her feel loved and powerful, but now she saw herself for what she really was: Nothing but a fly caught in a monster’s web.

YOU HORRIBLE CHEATING GIRL!

YOU DARE DISOBEY YOUR MOTHER!

DON’T LEAVE ME!

DON’T LEAVE ME!

I’LL DIE WITHOUT YOU!!

A muffled scream reached Raz’s ears and he wasn’t sure if it was his own or Coraline’s as he was ripped out of her mind. Blinking in the darkness of the room, he felt sick and shaky. He hadn’t just watched her memories, he lived them as if they were his own.

Maybe he probed too far. Maybe he should have gotten more training on this ability before he used it. One thing was for sure: that was truly one of the most terrifying things he had ever experienced.

Coraline was sitting up in the dark, breathing heavily on the floor not too far away from him. She clutched at her chest as she tried to calm her breathing.

“Coraline, are you okay?” Raz heard Wybie’s voice ask in concern and watched his silhouette sit up next to his friend.

Coraline didn’t answer as she continued to to struggle to take calming breaths.

Wybie reached a hand out to Coraline, as if he was going to put a comforting hand on her back, but then he froze uncertainty before bringing his hand back down to his side.

“Did you… did you dream about her again?” he asked hesitantly, his voice low so he wouldn't wake anyone else up.

Coraline managed to take a proper deep breath before she nodded her head jerkily.

“Coraline, maybe you should-”

“I’m fine, Wybie.” Her dismissal was cold, but Raz could hear the slight waiver of fresh tears in her voice.

“Jonesy…”

Coraline sighed and shook her head. “Really, Wybie,” she insisted again, but this time there was a sincere tone to her voice mixed in with the exhaustion. “I’m okay. It must have just been because of what Luis said today. It just brought back memories, you know?”

The hint of vulnerability in Coraline’s voice caused Raz’s stomach to constrict further with guilt. Not only had Raz invaded Coraline’s traumatic past, but he had caused her to have a nightmare, and now he was listening in on a private conversation. He shouldn’t have done this.

“She’s not going to get you,” Wybie said suddenly, his voice carrying a little too loudly in the small room.

Coraline seemed to feel the same as she glanced around to make sure no one had woken up.

“And how did you come to this brilliant conclusion?” she asked in a quiet voice, and Raz was relieved to hear some of her teasing nature color her tone.

“Because you already beat her,” Wybie said simply. “And because now you’re even stronger and smarter than you were back then, and this time you have me to back you up. She doesn’t stand a chance.”

Coraline considered him a long moment in the dark. “Wybie… go to sleep,” she said at last. But then she added as she laid her head back down on her pillow: “If you are going to be any good as backup then I need you to be well rested.”

Wybe gave a short laugh as he settled back in his bed.

Raz felt terrible as he closed his eyes in the dark. A part of him wished he had never looked into Coraline’s mind because he felt guilty and the other part of him wish he hadn’t done it because of the terrible monster saw. Now Raz had understood Coraline’s inexplicable and sudden terror at the mere mention of this creature. It was no wonder why Coraline didn’t want anyone involved.

Most people wouldn’t stick around town if they thought a creature like that was looking for them, but then again, most people wouldn’t have been able to beat it in the first place. If he could say nothing else about Coraline, she was definitely brave.

But one question remained. Was this creature, this Other Mother, the one making the psychic disturbances he and Lili were sent to find?

He hoped not, because as much as Raz was usually up for a good fight, he really didn’t want to go head-to-head with that thing.

Oh man, I really hope this chapter is good. I had to rewrite it so many times. I kept getting writers block and changing my mind. It was a mess. Also... happy late Parapines day I guess? 

Table of Contents   <Previous  Next>

[rewritingthestars]

Part 2 of my group home au

Part 1

Warnings: suicide ideation, suicide planning, eating disorders, implied abuse

——-

Neil knows what the Foxhole is. He's a foster kid. Of course he knows what the Foxhole is.

The Foxhole Home is a last resort. David Wymack, the founder and caretaker, only accepts the worst of the worst into the group home. It surprises Neil more than it should that he's ended up here.

Hernandez, his social worker, has been talking to Wymack for over an hour now.

Neil sits in the kitchen, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie and trying to avoid eye contact with Abby, the Foxhole Home's very own nurse. Neil thinks it says a lot, that a group home would need an on site nurse, but keeps his mouth shut in hopes that she'll keep hers shut too. Betsy, the home's therapist, makes small talk over a cup of hot chocolate that she offered to Neil earlier. She's finally stopped directing questions at Neil yet still leaves them in the air for Neil to catch if he so chooses. Neil doesn't, and ignores both the women in favor of ripping a hole in his already torn jeans.

Abby keeps asking if she can take Neil's hoodie for him, which he only answers once with a shake of his head. It's nearing eighty degrees outside, and Neil is wearing a sweater under his hoodie. Partly because it's easier to hide his scars, and partly because he hasn't really been eating and the cold has started to manifest in his bones like a disease.

Hernandez and Wymack finish, coming into the kitchen and shaking hands before Hernandez makes an aborted motion at Neil as though he was going to hug him but thought better of it halfway through. Hernandez says something before he leaves, something that sounds like 'you'll like it here' or ' this is for the best'. Either way it doesn't matter. Neil doesn't care. Neil is thinking of how to kill himself and make it stick. Neil presses his had over his wrist, squeezing until it sends a painful jolt down his arm. If Neil wasn't currently planning his next attempt he'd be worried at how much comfort he gets from the pain.

"It's Neil, right? I'm David Wymack, though most of the kids here call me coach." Wymack finally acknowledges his presence, and outstretches his hand. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem for Neil, but Wymack is just the right age and right build that Neil can't suppress his flinch. Wymack retracts his hand with a frown, before pretending it didn't happen.

Wymack rubs the back of his neck with a sigh, "There's two floors of rooms here. The top floor has five occupants at the moment and the second floor has four. Usually that would mean I'd put you on the second floor, but there's no way I'm gonna trust Andrew and his crew around you, so you'll be rooming with Matt on the top floor." Wymack makes a motion to follow, and Neil reluctantly gets off his chair to walk behind Wymack through the gigantic house.

Despite there being nine other kids living here, Neil has yet to see one. Neil wonders if they were told to stay away to make him more comfortable, but finds the idea too confusing to think about for long. As Neil follows David, he takes note of his surroundings. The second floor has four shut doors, most likely bedrooms, parallel to each other on the opposing sides of the halls. There's a bathroom at the far end, door wide open to show varying towels, hair products, and other supplies thrown hazardously around the room. The top floor is the same layout, besides that there's two bathrooms opposing each other, one cluttered in makeup and the other with scattered dirty clothes pouring out of the doors. It takes Neil an embarrassing long time to realize he hasn't heard noise on either floor and frowns.

"Where are the others?" Neil says, his first words of the day.

Wymack raises an eyebrow at him in return. "It's a Tuesday." Neil looks at him confused before remembering that most kids went to school at this time.

"Oh." Neil says lamely, and follows Wymack into one of the rooms without another word.

The room is more spacious than Neil would have thought a group home would offer. Half the room is obviously lived in, clothes scattered everywhere and the bedspread a mess. There's posters of bands Neil doesn't listen to and movies Neil's never watched. The other side looks barren in comparison, the only thing there being a dresser, a bed, and a few scattered boxes. Wymack curses at the sight of the boxes and it's only years of practice that stops Neil from flinching again.

"I told Seth to get this shit out of here days ago." He grumbles.

"Who's Seth?"

"Matt's old roommate. He moved into the room next door." Neil hears what's not said and bristles. Seth is moving so Neil can move in. Neil bets it's because the room next over was previously empty.

"I don't need a babysitter." Neil says coldly which Wymack snorts at.

"No offense kid, but you've been to the psych ward twice in one month, you can't blame me for trying to prevent it from becoming a third." Neil could blame him for making his next attempt that much harder to do, but Neil figures saying so will only be proving Wymack right and keeps his mouth shut.

Neil sets his bag, his only bag, onto the bed and resists the urge to pout like a child.

"Now I like to think I'm pretty laid back when it comes to you kids, but there are some rules," Wymack says sternly, "I do not tolerate drugs, and I do not tolerate bullying. I don't like to get involved with the drama but I will if someone could or is getting hurt. If you have a problem with any of the others come see me or Abby and we'll figure it out. If you're going somewhere I want to know where, and sorry to say, but considering your history one of the others will have to go with you. Don’t take it too personally, Seth and Andrew can't go out without someone else present for their own reasons too. If you hurt one of the others unprovoked, me, Abby, and Betsy will decide if you should stay or not. Other than that try to stay out of trouble and always ask for help if you need it for anything, whether that be school, people or something else. We have at least one adult in this house at all times and all of us are here for you. Got it?"

Neil blinks twice before nodding.

Wymack nods back. "Good. There's scheduled meal times but most of the kids don't follow it so don't be shy to eat whenever you want. You can't just go into one of the others' room without their permission but most of them on this floor won't mind regardless. I suggest staying away from the second floor until Andrew gets used to you, but I won't hold my breath. The first floor is everyone's space, and my office as well as Abby's and Betsy's is down there too. The living room has a TV and video games if you're interested, but Abby has this thing about making sure you do your homework before, so watch out for that.”

Wymack scratches his head, thinking before saying, "Oh right. This floor is co-ed. The room across yours is the girls' rooms, and so is the bathroom on their side of the hall. Will that be a problem?"

Neil stares at him in confusion. "Why would that be a problem?"

Wymack narrows his eyes at Neil until he realizes Neil is being genuine and shakes his head. "I'll take that as a no then."

Neil looks at Wymack, fidgeting with his sleeve. "Is that all?" Neil says when Wymack still hasn't left.

Wymack sighs, "Yeah I think that's all of it. If you got any questions, you can always come to me."

"Okay."

Neil thought that was dismissive enough but Wymack continues to watch him from the doorway. Neil soon realizes he doesn't want to leave Neil alone which causes Neil to roll his eyes.

"I'm not going to kill myself just because you leave." Neil says, annoyed, even though it's a lie.

Wymack stiffens at Neil's wording, but nods, making sure to remind him that he'll be up to check up on him.

Neil breathes, feeling his chest loosen now that Wymack is gone. Neil doesn’t bother to pull the small pile of clothes he owns in a dresser and instead shoves the bag with all of his possessions under the bed. For a moment he ponders hiding it better but rejects the idea. It’s not like he’ll have a use for it for much longer. 

Looking around he sees there's a small window in the middle of the room. Neil finds himself surprised that it opens, looking down and measuring the distance. It could kill him, maybe. It could also not and leave him paralyzed. Neil wonders if euthanasia is legal in South Carolina.

Neil rules out the window. There's too much of a risk of it not doing the job and Neil's already failed twice, and he wants the third time to be his last.

Neil supposes he could tie the bedsheets together to form a noose and use the window that way. But there aren't enough sheets, and asking for more would just raise suspicions. Neil tries not to get too discomfited and goes to check out the bathroom. He steps over the dirty laundry that makes up the floor and searches. He soon finds that there isn't anything sharper than the back of a toothbrush and frowns. What about shaving?

He searches some more and finds a small safe on the floor. Of course they lock up sharp objects. Neil would have to convince Wymack that he wasn't a risk, or he'd have to break into the safe. It's a spin dial though, not a lock, and Neil never learned how to break those.

Neil checks the girls' bathroom and finds it the same. He goes back to the guys' bathroom, frustrated. 

Neil has prescription pills, but they were given to Abby and Neil would bet money he doesn't have that medication gets locked up too. But they have to give it to him at least once a day. Neil can fake taking them, stash them away, and take them when he has enough. A month supply combined with over the counter medicine should be good enough. Enough to leave no room to wake up after.

Neil breathes. In. Out. He just has to last thirty days. Then he doesn't have to deal with this again. Then he doesn't have to deal with anything again.

----

[msclaritea]

~Napoleon, Nietzsche & TFP~

A Study In Holmesian Iconoclasm: Masks & Images P.2

This is the final part of a series that looked into the canon story The Six Napoleons, resulting in mary-resurrects-lucretia & sherlock-on-the-ocean-when-neitzsche-wept. In the story, someone is running around, smashing Napoleon busts. Strange enough, but even more so when you find out that this has all happened before. Arthur Conan Doyle was masterful, it seems, at embedding real-life people and true tales of History in the Holmes stories. Iconoclasm is the social belief in the importance of the destruction of usually religious icons and other images or monuments, most frequently for religious or political reasons…In Political and revolutionary iconoclasm, revolutions, and changes of regime, whether through uprising of the local population, foreign invasion, or a combination of both, are often accompanied by the public destruction of statues and monuments identified with the previous regime.

During the French Revolution, the statue of Napoleon on the column at Place Vendôme, Paris was the target of iconoclasm several times: destroyed after the Bourbon Restoration, and during the Paris Commune.

Napoleon loomed large as a political figure in the 19th century. The artists of subsequent periods were a mix of elevating his image…or smashing it. Napoleonic Iconoclasm is an actual known trope, as he evolved into a mythical figure during the Romantic Period.

“Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man who breaks them is influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor must exist in London, it is too much to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclast should chance to begin upon three specimens of the same bust.“  

The Adventure of The Six Napoleons touches on true political history, and the image of Napoleon intertwines with the enduring quality of Holmes. Moriarty was not called ‘The Napoleon of Crime’, for nothing. He was created as a nemesis to Holmes; his mirror image, for his eventual death. But whereas Moriarty died, Sherlock Holmes, like Napoleon, was ‘banished’, only to return, and be celebrated, while once again, taking control of ACD’s career. 

“Privately, he has become something of a villain, over time, tyrannically taking control of Doyle’s writing, and his endlessly-replicated heroic figure invited smashing.” This quote, from The Secret Marriage of Sherlock Holmes:  "Shattering the pedestrian image of reason is Holmes’s great iconoclastic gift.“ "His reasoning is obsessive, impulsive, unpredictable, astonishing.” Holmes displays much enthusiasm and dramatic flair in The Six Thatchers, and “When the blow of the riding crop shatters the image so long sought, and reveals the pearl inside, all subsequent explanations seem a footnote. That blow is this story’s symbolic representation of reason’s power, and that single gesture sums up the transvaluation (re-evaluating of the values) of reason’s image that Sherlock Holmes has wrought.“ It’s part of my theory that BBC Sherlock is engaging Holmesian Iconoclasm; in a literary sense, breaking the man down to his most basic parts, taking him into dark places in an experiment of re-integration, using the teachings of Nietzsche in Season 4, as a way of aligning his moral code for the world we live in now. What ARE the sum of his parts?

The Question: Sherlock and Theseus’s Paradox by Dennis O’ Neil

"An Ancient Greek named Theseus…builds a ship. Over time the ship needs repairs and pieces of it have to be replaced and finally everything has been replaced. Not a single splinter of the original craft remains. Which brings us to what is known in some circles as Theseus’s Paradox. We ask: Is the ship our man Theseus ends with the same one that he built years earlier?”

In The Beginning: Birth & The Bi-Part Soul                       

Below is an excerpt from a thesis The Influence of Duality and Poe’s Notion of the Bi-Part Soul’ on the Genesis of Detective Fiction in the Nineteenth-Century by Stephanie Craighill. It is a lengthy, beautiful piece on the genesis of the creation of what we refer to as the Mirrors. Like Nietzsche, Poe and Doyle held strong belief in Duality/Dualism/Balance, and used that belief, NOT just when structuring characters, but the stories themselves.

"Observing him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul and amused myself with the fancy of a double Dupin; the creative and the resolvent." Poe‘s explicit reference to the double‘ directly intertwines with the theme of duality which resonates throughout the Gothic novel and the Romantic Movement in nineteenth century fiction; this paradigm is evident in texts such as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe‘s Faust, Mary Shelley‘s Frankenstein…This motif has been extensively examined by scholars and has been defined using numerous but vague classifications which include the fictional double‘, the evil twin‘, the alter ego‘, the antithetical self‘, the fragmentation of self into dual‘ and the twin soul‘. Dupin reproaches the Prefect of the Parisian police for being too cunning to be profound‘,

(which mirrors the game of chess where what is complex is mistaken for what is profound‘. The detective, also, rebukes the Prefect‘s wisdom‘ for being all head and no body‘ which relates to the detective‘s earlier supposition that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic‘ The Prefect‘s reasoning is too fanciful‘ to be successful.  It is through the combined use of both aspects of the Bi Part Soul‘, the head‘ and the body‘ and their associated faculties of the imagination and reason, that the detective was able to outwit his opponent.)

Duality is implicit in the structure and characterization of The Murders in the Rue Morgue‘.  It is visible in the tale‘s twin plot, the divided self which is the narrator and Dupin, the doubling of the criminals, victims and detective and most prominently the detective‘s creative and resolvent‘ Bi-Part Soul‘.  Dupin‘s dual psychology is associated with moral ambiguity and a blurring of boundaries which, consequently, has shaped a compelling psychosomatic template for a genre of multifaceted and complex detective protagonists. Holmes‘ inherent dualism is summarised by Iain Sinclair and Ed Glinert who state that:   Holmes is the classically divided man that the age required: alchemist and rigorous experimenter, furious walker and definitive slacker, athlete and dope fiend.  He could, as the mood took him, be Trappist or motor mouth … Holmes is forever lurching between incompatible polarities. From the beginning Holmes was a double figure, first in himself as the mixture of scientist and poet and even more significantly in the double figure of Sherlock Holmes Doctor Watson‘. Conan Doyle‘s implicit doubling of Poe‘s detective trilogy extends further; like Dupin who doubles the criminals in The Murders in the Rue Morgue‘ and the thief Minister D. in The Purloined Letter‘, Holmes represents a doppelgänger for his arch nemesis, the criminal mastermind Professor Moriarty.  Moriarty only directly appears in two of the sixty Holmes accounts; in the short story The Final Problem‘ and the novella The Valley of Fear, though he is mentioned in a selection of the other narratives. In these two accounts we learn that Moriarty shares a number of common characteristics with Holmes. He is of similar physical appearance, has a phenomenal mathematical faculty‘, is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker‘ and a scientific criminal‘ Moriarty conforms to the same Bi-Part‘ mould as the detectives Holmes and Dupin; he is both reasoned and artistic. In The Final Problem‘ Holmes refers to Moriarty as the organiser of half that is evil. Moriarty could characterize an inversion of the values embodied by Holmes‘ and, as a result, the criminal represents the detective‘s doppelgänger who is equipped with an identical skill set but motivated by an evil purpose."

Context: Paralleling the Works of Nietzsche and Sherlock

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

Thus Spake Zarathustra: Sherlock On The Ocean:

"The above piece was written in 1875 by William Ernest Henley. Perhaps most famous is Henley’s closing statement: “I am the master of my fate:/I am the captain of my soul.” The poem is a declaration of the triumph of the human spirit - the refusal to bend to a universe Henley called “a place of wrath and tears. Holmes was an unprecedented sort of hero. Emerging from a culture enthralled by scientific progress, he was a superhero who relied almost entirely on his powers of deduction…Holmes was and is the sensationalized personification of Henley’s captain of the soul. His powers of deduction are presented as the triumph of reason, a triumph open to all of humanity if we’d only try a little harder. In this way, Sherlock Holmes is Nietzsche’s “superman” (a term coined in Thus Spake Zarathustra, written a few years before A Study in Scarlet). He is the moral, observational and logical evolution of mankind.

The Übermensch is Nietzsche’s concept of the ideal, and it can translate to overman, superman, above human, and probably some other things. The Übermensch doesn’t have incredible physical abilities. Instead, his power is mental and spiritual. The greatest power in the world, according to Nietzsche, is freedom, and I’m about to make a huge and tragic over-simplification of Nietzsche’s theory as to what that means. It is that complete human freedom is achieved by radically breaking with all forms of guilt, shame, and external authority. It combines many qualities of a completely naïve and fearless toddler with those of an experienced and wise elder."

Sherlock: Isn't that...one of those Law things?

"In the first or second episode a minor character calls him a sociopath, and the show really delves into the question of what actually makes Holmes and Moriarty (a really evil criminal who is as good at crime as Holmes is at solving crimes) different from each other aside from pure occupational interests. The sociopath comment was my first clue. Critics of Nietzsche’s philosophy have always contended that his Übermensch would really be a sociopath who just looks out for number one. What is useful in making the connection between Sherlock Holmes and Nietzsche’s work is that I think the Holmes series provides a picture into how the Übermensch doesn’t necessarily play out as a sociopath.“

"He can’t stand the boredom of the day to day, the absurd. And it is just like any good German existentialist to value present experience over the longevity of life. Furthermore, he is completely open about his habit with Dr. Watson, who is initially very concerned. His openness about it shows that Holmes gives no credibility to prescriptions other than his own as to what constitutes a good life.

His passion happens to be for forensic science, or the “science of deduction,” as Holmes calls it. The key, though, is that he throws everything he has got into what he truly cares about, leaving no room for time wasters like social obligations, civic engagement, parties, etc. Dr. Watson even finds that Holmes isn’t aware that the Earth revolves around the sun, since it has no use for his forensic studies.”

“There is an old illusion—it is called good and evil. Around soothsayers and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion.

Once did one believe in soothsayers and astrologers; and therefore did one believe, "Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!”

Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and therefore did one believe, “Everything is freedom: thou canst, for thou willest!”

O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto been only illusion, and not knowledge; and therefore concerning good and evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!" Thus Spake Zarathustra

”On Nietzsche: While most of his contemporaries looked on the late nineteenth century with unbridled optimism, confident in the progress of science and the rise of the German state, Nietzsche saw his age facing a fundamental crisis in values. With the rise of science, the Christian worldview no longer held a prominent explanatory role in people’s lives, a view Nietzsche captures in the phrase “God is dead.” However, science does not introduce a new set of values to replace the Christian values it displaces. Nietzsche rightly foresaw that people need to identify some source of meaning and value in their lives, and if they could not find it in science, they would turn to aggressive nationalism and other such salves. The last thing Nietzsche would have wanted was a return to traditional Christianity, however. Instead, he sought to find a way out of nihilism through the creative and willful affirmation of life.“

The Gay Science: Nietzsche’s first consideration of the idea of the eternal recurrence

“What if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more’ […] Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: 'You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine.”

This was one of the themes of Shakespeare’s No Fear Sonnets 1-60, some of which have been found embedded and acted out in the show. 59 is heavy with this theme and found in The Six Thatchers. “Not only does Nietzsche posit that the universe is recurring over infinite time and space, but that the different versions of events that have occurred in the past may at one point or another take place again, hence "all configurations that have previously existed on this earth must yet meet…” And with each version of events is hoping that some knowledge or awareness is gained to better the individual, hence “And thus it will happen one day that a man will be born again, just like me and a woman will be born, just like Mary—only that it is hoped to be that the head of this man may contain a little less foolishness…”

The Antichrist, originally published in 1895

MARY: Hm. Now you’d think we’d have noticed, when she was born. JOHN: Hm? Noticed what? MARY: The little 666 on her forehead. JOHN: Hmhmhm, that’s The Omen. MARY: (lifts her head to look at him with a frown, stays like that though John’s entire answer) So? JOHN: Well, you said it was like The Exorcist. They’re two different things. You can’t be the Devil and the Antichrist.

“Nietzsche writes scathingly about Christianity, arguing that it is fundamentally opposed to life. In Christian morality, Nietzsche sees an attempt to deny all those characteristics that he associates with healthy life. The concept of sin makes us ashamed of our instincts and our sexuality, the concept of faith discourages our curiosity and natural skepticism, and the concept of pity encourages us to value and cherish weakness. Furthermore, Christian morality is based on the promise of an afterlife, leading Christians to devalue this life in favor of the beyond. Nietzsche argues that Christianity springs from resentment for life and those who enjoy it, and it seeks to overthrow health and strength with its life-denying ethic. As such, Nietzsche considers Christianity to be the hated enemy...Christianity is called the religion of pity. Pity stands opposed to the tonic emotions which heighten our vitality: it has a depressing effect. We are deprived of strength when we feel pity. That loss of strength which suffering as such inflicts on life is still further increased and multiplied by pity. Pity makes suffering contagious."

Sherlock: This hospital is full of people dying, doctor, why don’t you go and cry by their bedsides, see what good it does.

Nietzsche claimed that the Christian religion and its morality are based on imaginary fictions. Concept of morality is falsified. Morality is no longer an expression of life and growth. Instead, morality opposes life by presenting well–being as a dangerous temptation. Priestly agitators “… interpret all good fortune as a reward, all misfortune as punishment for disobedience of God, for 'sin,’…The sacred book formulates the will of God and specifies what is to be given to the priests. Priests become parasites.”…All things of life are so ordered that the priest is everywhere indispensable; at all the natural events of life, at birth, marriage, sickness, death. Not to speak of 'sacrifice’ (meal–times)…Natural values become utterly valueless. The priest sanctifies and bestows all value. Disobedience of God (the priest) is 'sin.’ Subjection to God (the priest) is redemption. Priests use 'sin’ to gain and hold power. 

Sherlock: …And contrast is, after all, God’s own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot.

*Interesting footnote about the first part of this statement. Goethe, from whom Nietzche gets the word Ubermensch, apparently actually invented the Color Wheel. THIS video shows how he used light, shadow and a color to enhance the beauty of another.

“The Truth’s Boring!”

“Nietzsche is critical of the very idea of objective truth. That we should think there is only one right way of considering a matter is only evidence that we have become inflexible in our thinking. Such intellectual inflexibility is a symptom of saying “no” to life, a condition that Nietzsche abhors. A healthy mind is flexible and recognizes that there are many different ways of considering a matter. There is no single truth but rather many.”

“Because You’re an Idiot”

"Nietzsche thought that the word idiot best described Jesus. According to Walter Kaufmann, he might have been referring to the naïve protagonist of  Dostoyevsky’s book The Idiot. “The fable of Christ as miracle–worker and redeemer is not the origin of Christianity..Jesus did not want to redeem anyone. He wanted to show how to live. His legacy was his bearing and behavior. He did not resist evildoers. He loved evildoers. Nietzsche claimed that the Christian faith as practised was not a proper representation of Jesus’ teachings, as it forced people merely to believe in the way of Jesus but not to act as Jesus did, in particular his example of refusing to judge people, something that Christians had constantly done the opposite of."

Human, All Too Human: On Becoming

JOHN: Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this. SHERLOCK (not looking round): Hmm? JOHN: Being back. Being a hero again. SHERLOCK: Oh, don’t be stupid. JOHN: You’d have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it. SHERLOCK (turning to face him): Love what? JOHN: Being Sherlock Holmes. SHERLOCK: I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.

"Nietzsche wrote that Heraclitus "will remain eternally right with his assertion that being is an empty fiction”. Nietzsche developed the vision of a chaotic world in perpetual change and becoming. The state of becoming does not produce fixed entities, such as being, subject, object, substance, thing. Ephesus, who in the sixth century BC, said that nothing in this world is constant except change and becoming." Sherlock, at this point, is still in a state of becoming.

 "Reptile!"  

"But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a parasite ascend with you!                                                                                    A parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that trieth to fatten on your infirm and sore places.                                                                      And this is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in your trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build its loathsome nest.”

“Enemy” shall ye say but not “villain,” “invalid” shall ye say but not “wretch,” “fool” shall ye say but not “sinner.”

And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in thought, then would every one cry: “Away with the nastiness and the virulent reptile!” Thus Spake Zarathustra

 Why  All The Pain? The Birth of Tragedy

“Artistic creation depends on a tension between two opposing forces, which Nietzsche terms the “Apollonian” and the “Dionysian.”

"Apollo was the god of light, reason, harmony, balance and prophesy, while Dionysus was the god of wine, revelry, ecstatic emotion and tragedy.

Nietzsche uses this duality for discussing the artistic process which relate to either Apollo or Dionysus.   Apollo and Dionysus symbols of this duality which he further distinguishes with the terms of “dreams” and “drunkenness.”  For Nietzsche, dreams represent the realm of beautiful forms and symbols, an orderly place of light and reason. Drunkenness, on the other hand, is that state of wild passions where the boundaries between "self" and "other" dissolve.  (This may strike as odd, but Nietzsche seems to make the assumption that, when dreaming, one is aware of the fact that one is dreaming and so still able to separate appearance from reality.  I believe that he would claim those who are entirely caught up in their dreams are experiencing Dionysian ecstasy, not Apollonian beauty.)"

                                        Meet Nihilism

”The nihilist believes in nothing, has no loyalties and has no purpose in life. Some are left with only an impulse to destroy.“

EURUS: Am I being punished? MAN (offscreen, faintly): You’ve been bad. EURUS (almost sing-song): There’s no such thing as ‘bad.’ MAN (offscreen): What about good? EURUS: Good and bad are fairytales. We have evolved to attach an emotional significance to what is nothing more than the survival strategy of the pack animal. We are conditioned to invest divinity in utility. Good isn’t really good, evil isn’t really wrong, and bottoms aren’t really pretty. You are a prisoner of your own meat. MAN (offscreen): Why aren’t you? EURUS (raising her head and looking directly into the camera as she speaks the words slowly and clearly): I’m too clever.

"Moral nihilism, also known as ethical nihilism, is the meta-ethical view that morality does not exist as something inherent to objective reality; therefore no action is necessarily preferable to any other. For example, a moral nihilist would say that killing someone, for whatever reason, is not inherently right or wrong. Nietzsche characterized nihilism as emptying the world and especially human existence of meaning, purpose, comprehensible truth, or essential value."

Eurus is most definitely a Sherlock mirror; a Bi-Part Soul. She doesn’t even know 'if something’s beautiful or not; only right’. Eurus is pure Nihilism. A Brain without a heart; an actual calculating machine, attempting to show that making a supposed 'morally-right decision can actually create the opposite result, so that moral codes don’t matter. She used tests, like sherlocks-paradox, tests he has been put through before. As we witness, Sherlock succeeds.

This is still the same journey many have pointed out, just using the Nietzschean Method to do so. Growing from a great man…a Superman into a good one; flawed and very much human, with a Moral Code to match.

"Friedrich Nietzsche believed that the corrosive effects of nihilism would end up destroying all moral constructs, religions, and metaphysical convictions...that nihilism would be the most corrosive force in history.”

Fun Note: On Mustaches & Military Kinks

“Nietzsche lived with the mustache most of his adult life, and it represented for him the military life. He served briefly in the military, and always held certain admiration for military discipline. In him we get a sense that the military attitude is very important towards living a proper, fulfilling life. If you ask most people what does Nietzsche look like, what they will immediately say is: ‘oh that’s the guy with the huge mustache’. And if you ask: ‘well, what about the eyes? the nose? what about the chin? what about the hair?’ They will probably draw a blank. And Nietzsche himself points out that when you see someone with a big handsome mustache, what they see is: the mustache. It is a mask, it allowed Nietzsche in effect to hide.”

To conclude, through the eyes of Nietzsche, the show is smashing the previous images of Sherlock Holmes, using the Philosopher’s works, in addition to Freud and Josef Breuer, to take him through a journey of self-discovery, and yes, love. Given the strong hints to a troubled childhood and suppression of feelings, the philosophies of these men, together, are employed, just as presented in When Nietzsche Wept. This meta cannot even begin to cover the full scope of Nietzshe’s works or his strong influence on the blueprint of Sherlock Holmes. His presence is found throughout canon; sometimes, in the form of other characters. I will say that Nietzche’s ideas are many, profound and important. Considering his influence on Arthur Conan Doyle, and Sherlock Holmes, who has in turn, been so important to 21st century, in many fields, Friedrich Nietzsche should always be held in high regard. Not bad for a guy who in the good old days would have been labelled a Heretic, and burned at the stake. So maybe he’s right; we can be better.

“I know my fate. One day my name will be associated with the memory of something tremendous — a crisis without equal on earth, the most profound collision of conscience, a decision that was conjured up against everything that had been believed, demanded, hallowed so far. I am no man, I am dynamite. Ecco Homo

(Don’t you just love some of his book titles?)

Read also the-reptile-in-221b &  sherlock-denying-the-devil

 @brilliantorinsane @simpleanddestructivechemistry @shylockgnomes @possiblyimbiassed @raggedyblue @rinkagaminesstuff @artfulkindoforder @radogost  @asherlockstudy  @fellshish @multivariate-madness @madzither @yorkiepug @loveismyrevolution @consultingidiots @tjlcisthenewsexy

Full text of Thus Spake Zarathustra

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[orbemnews]

Capitol riot tears GOP aside because it seeks a return to energy in 2022 “He isn’t the one who made the choice to breach this Capitol,” Scott stated. After shedding the Home, Senate and White Home in 4 years, Trump stays broadly in style throughout the GOP. However the riot has led a small group of Home Republicans — together with Rep. Liz Cheney, the No. 3 in GOP management within the chamber — to assist his impeachment. Republican senators at the moment are severely contemplating whether or not to convict him of the cost, “incitement of rebellion,” after 5 folks died within the assault. The Florida Republican informed CNN that he wished Trump “responded sooner” to quell the violence, calling the riot “unacceptable” and “un-American” and for among the insurrectionists to be prosecuted. However he didn’t maintain Trump accountable for the assault, despite the fact that the President urged his supporters in a speech earlier than the riot on January 6 to march to the Capitol, to “struggle like hell” to avoid wasting the nation, and to “cease the steal.” Trump stated then that he would “by no means surrender” and “by no means concede.” “I feel it is irresponsible and false to say the President informed folks to interrupt into the Capitol,” Scott stated. “He did not do this.” ‘Republicans are at a fork within the street’ The occasion’s divide extends to the cash machine that retains it in workplace. The US Chamber of Commerce, company political motion committees and main conservative donors are reevaluating whether or not they are going to donate to the 147 Republican members of Congress who objected to certifying the presidential election on the day of the assault in a deluded bid to overturn the outcomes. These members embody Scott and Home Republican Chief Kevin McCarthy, who cited voter integrity considerations. The enterprise neighborhood has recoiled in horror on the violence, probably impairing Republicans’ fundraising effort to flip each the Home and Senate in 2022. The donor revolt is “going to make each Republican’s job that a lot more durable,” stated Ken Spain, a GOP strategist. Spain stated the company pushback now beneath means illustrates a fissure between company America and rank-and-file Republicans on points equivalent to free commerce that has solely grown wider lately. “The occasion was already turning into a extra populist working-class occasion and Trump accelerated that,” he stated. “Republicans are at a fork within the street, and the route that they select to absorb the approaching days and weeks goes to have a profound impression on the way forward for the occasion.” Scott, a former governor who voted final week in opposition to certifying Biden’s win, downplayed the donors’ outcry, saying that he performed fundraising conferences between Thursday and Monday and “all people’s excited to assist.” “Companies, people, they’ve a selection,” the senator stated. “When you consider in a giant authorities, much less freedoms, socialism, you ought to truly put all of your cash into supporting the Democrats. If you’d like alternative, and decrease taxes and fewer authorities, you are going to assist Republicans.” Some main American firms, together with Amazon and CNN’s proprietor AT&T, have introduced they are going to withhold PAC donations to those that objected to certifying the election outcomes. Many different corporations, starting from Coca-Cola to UPS, have suspended political donations throughout the board. Enterprise PACs are vital gamers in politics, accounting for greater than $360 million in federal contributions through the 2020 cycle — with about 57% of the cash flowing to GOP candidates, in keeping with the nonpartisan Middle for Responsive Politics. Individuals for Prosperity, the political arm of the influential community affiliated with Kansas industrialist Charles Koch, has warned it might withdraw monetary assist for lawmakers over their actions within the runup to the January 6 siege, though even earlier than final week’s rebellion, Koch officers had signaled they wished to maneuver away from strictly partisan politics. “Lawmakers’ actions main as much as and through final week’s rebellion will weigh heavy in our analysis of future assist,” stated AFP CEO Emily Seidel in an announcement. The US Chamber of Commerce additionally warned that some lawmakers might lose monetary assist over their efforts to thwart the switch of energy however declined to single them out. “We’ll consider the totality of what candidates and elected officers do, together with the actions of final week, and importantly, the actions within the days forward in figuring out whether or not or not we assist them,” stated Neil Bradley, the chamber government vice chairman, on Tuesday. “I really wish to be very clear: There are some members, who by their actions, can have forfeited the assist of the US Chamber of Commerce.” However when pressed on what Missouri GOP Sen. Josh Hawley, who led the objection to the certification of the election within the Senate, must do to earn extra donations from the Chamber, Bradley stated they might consider how members performed themselves final week and within the days to return. “I am not ready to say, nor would our members say in the present day, that you need to do X, Y and Z and never do A, B and C,” he stated. Some main conservative donors have additionally centered their ire on the person Republicans they view as having helped to instigate final week’s occasions, significantly Hawley. Missouri businessman Sam Fox, who donated $300,000 to a brilliant PAC that aided Hawley’s election in 2018, stated in an announcement that the senator “can actually overlook about any assist from me once more” after final week’s occasions. “Sen. Hawley engaged in act of reckless pandering,” stated Fox, who served as US ambassador to Belgium beneath President George W. Bush. “He helped put the nation on a path that has led to 5 deaths and in shame for himself and for the nation.” Hawley aides did instantly reply to a request for remark. The senator wrote an op-ed for the Southeast Missourian newspaper explaining why he continued to object after the violence within the Capitol. “The reason being easy: I can’t bow to a lawless mob, or enable criminals to drown out the official considerations of my constituents,” Hawley wrote. Trying to 2022 Some prime donors have remained silent within the aftermath of the riot. A spokeswoman for Ken Griffin, a billionaire hedge-fund supervisor and one of many GOP’s greatest donors, declined to touch upon whether or not he would evaluation his donation coverage. However others stated they might stand by the Republicans in Congress. Dan Eberhart, an Arizona-based vitality government contemplating a bid in opposition to Democrat Sen. Mark Kelly in 2022, stated, “I’ve been a giant donor to Rick Scott previously and plan to proceed to be.” Eberhart stated disaffected donors will “make up with Republicans fairly shortly” if the Democrats, who will quickly management the White Home and each chambers in Congress, “overreach” of their agenda. “Donors will need the counterweight that Republican present. Extra money could go to the management PACs, however it’ll nonetheless go to Republicans if these are the insurance policies donors assist,” he added. After Home Republicans picked up seats in 2020 and with the Senate cut up 50-50 — and Vice President-elect Kamala Harris set to be the tiebreaker — eyes will flip to subsequent 12 months’s midterms. The occasion out of energy usually does nicely in midterms, and in 2022, Senate Republicans can have extra seats to defend than the Democrats, together with in battleground states like Florida, Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Wisconsin. Democratic senators might have powerful races in Arizona, New Hampshire, Nevada and elsewhere. Scott informed CNN that he has three targets: presenting a “clear selection” to the nation on how a Republican and Democratic Senate differ, elevating extra money and recruiting high quality candidates. He stated he hoped Republican Wisconsin Sen. Ron Johnson would run for reelection, and that the GOP has “numerous alternatives to choose up extra seats.” However Trump and his legacy will proceed to form the perceptions of the occasion within the subsequent election. Already, Ben Wikler, chair of the Democratic Get together of Wisconsin, introduced on Wednesday that the occasion goes up with a six-figure advert purchase that blames Johnson for inciting the riot on the Capitol. The Florida senator stated it is as much as Trump and the Senate GOP candidates whether or not the then-former president hits the marketing campaign path on their behalf in 2022. When requested if he blamed Trump for shedding the Senate, Scott stated, “My focus is on ‘how will we go ahead?’ “ CNN’s Dan Merica contributed to this story. Supply hyperlink #Capitol #CapitolriottearsGOPapartasitseeksareturntopowerin2022-CNNPolitics #GOP #Politics #power #return #riot #Seeks #Tears

[trashyazeohane]

Anyhoo it seems you guys like my ideas, so here I am – with new part… If I didn’t have one long fanfick already started, I would turn it into a normal story, but naaah, probably not. Maybe I’ll write something, maybe not, idk…

So where we left off… Ah yeah… And today with even more of my shitty colorful my art!

Part 1 here!

Adult!Maxvid!AU – part 2 (keep it going):

Scene #3

Max wanted to say something. Anything. But his throat was dry and he felt like he suddenly swallowed a ton of bricks, which were made of lead actually. The fact that his Little Star was looking at him curiously wasn’t helping at all. It was making everything way worse.

Oh, Nikki definitely would pay a nice amount of money to see him like this.

And fuck, David was still staring at him and – what the hell – this guy didn’t change at all!? This was unfair.

“Max?” David asked, hands immediately moving to form letters. Little Star followed his movements, only to turn her head at Max in the end.

Fuck, shit, god fucking damn it, he was ruined. Why, just why him? Why now? Why after so many years?

Nevermind I forgot where I was going with the previous scene

After some awkward interaction Max took his Little Star home, still in this half dazed state. She tried to ask him few questions, but he barely could respond with his hands, which weirdly felt like they didn’t belong to him. His aunt also asked him about it, but he just brushed it off to quickly get back to his dorm.

Boom! Max burst into Nikki’s room, who was in the middle of feeding her snake. She was like ‘Sup Max!’ without lifting her head at him.

Scene#4

“Nikki!”

“What?!” The girl looked at him, now clearly perplexed. Well, no wonder. If weird glances from his family were any good indication, then he had to look out of his mind. He felt out of his mind. “Max, you okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That could even be even the case.

For few seconds the voice didn’t want to leave his throat. Fuck, even the coherent sentence didn’t want to be formed inside his now mushy brain. Or what was left of it. Seriously, fuck him, fuck his life. Everything was going almost good for few years. He almost managed to forget about him. But then he had to be right there!

Why had he done in his life to deserve it? He probably deserved it, but still!

The interval in the conversation had to be long, because even Nikki started to look… worried? Yes, worried was a good name for the emotion hiding inside her eyes.

“Max?”

“I just saw David.”

“Oh…”

“Just oh!? You’re commenting it with just ‘oh’!?”

“Wait, my mind is still processing this.”

So Max was basically totally freaked out. Like duh! Nikki interrogated him about the whole meeting fiasco and Max realized that he had to look pretty dumb with him uttering almost no words. Fuck. What if David found out? No, but that was impossible!? There was no way he could know what was running through Max’s brain. And even if… most of it was filled with ‘fucks’…

Nikki patted him on the back and was like ‘Everything’s going to be okay.’

Max was like ‘Wtf how!?’

Scene #5

“Well you don’t have to pick up your cousin that often, right? So chill. Maybe you’ll see him like five more times or so?”

“Nikki, I agreed to pick her up every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“That complicates things…”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

So Max was a nervous mess and Nikki actually found it pretty funny. In the end Max snapped at her to stop snickering at him and she just burst into laughter and said that she had to call Neil.

Which she did, later. And then Neil wrote to him in the middle of the night (because that nerd had terrible sleeping schedules due to his Uni). Talking with Neil actually helped more than with Nikki, but well she was never good in lifting people’s spirits up in the end.

Next day rolled more over calmly. Max, maybe not totally forgot about his encounter, but he had terrible labs so he was exhausted to this point where he didn’t think too much about it.

But then Thursday came and Max literally laid in his bed, opened his eyes open and immediately murmured ‘Shit’

The day passed and Max got more anxious with every passing minute. He was so stressed that he snarled and growled at every person that wanted to approach him. Only Nikki was allowed to be close, because she didn’t care. Actually found it hilarious (again).

Then she even dared to show him thumbs-up when he was supposed to go pick his Little Star up. Max showed her middle finger, just because he was nervous and pissed, because he rarely feels nervous and now he was nervous because of that fucktard!

Max taps his foot a lot when he is like that

He was talking a lot with himself in his head while going to the Kindergarten, because duh, maybe David won’t be there today? Maybe he won’t see him anymore? Maybe it was just a terrible figment of his imagination? Yes, maybe David was only there in replacement for someone who had vacations? Maybe he wasn’t already working there and Max won’t see him ever again?

But you kind of want to see him? Admit it!

Shut up, me!

And he was in front of the door.

Shiet, fuck, shiet, fuck!

But he was Max. He had reputation at his Uni. Very bad reputation! He had to keep the face! Especially in front of David. Piece of cake!

So Max stepped inside. The woman behind the counter just asked him to step further into the building, because she had hands full of work (aka. kids).

“You have to turn left at the end of the hall and go through the third door on the right!”

“Okay…”

So he stepped into the hall and slowly moved further. Gladly he didn’t get lost, although he had to replay the instructions two times in his head.

He had to pass one more hallway to get to the class. Max was now pissed and perplexed by this building construction. The fact that it was still filled with shouts and yells of kids didn’t really help calm his nerves. It actually made him more edgy and angry.

So he was majorly pissed when he finally, finally reached the opened door.

He was about to knock on the doorframe, but stopped midway, when he saw David in the middle of the room with his Little Star hanging onto his neck.

And, what the fuck, Max definitely had to be cursed, because he felt all this anger slipping away. He wouldn’t admit that it could be a nice spell, it definitely was a fucking curse.

Anyhoo

Scene #6.1

David was kneeling in the middle of the room. He was explaining something to some kid in front of him and he looked… looked so calm. This everlasting smile was still on his face, always kind and understanding. Just as Max remembered it. David’s hands move smoothly in front of himself and the kid in front twirled his foot into the carpet, but a shy, embarrassed smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It also looked like the kid had been crying not too long ago. (Picture above)

The room was quiet, but not uncomfortable or deadly quiet, just… it felt like the silence was always present here, but not unwelcomed.

Scene #6.2

Then David patted the child’s head and smiled broadly and the kid did the same. Only then he finally noticed Max standing in the corridor, or by now leaning on the wall there. (Picture above)

“Oh hey, Max! I didn’t hear you coming in.”

Max raised his eyebrow, ready to snarky comment back the fact that his footsteps were the fucking loudest thing in this goddamn corridor, but then Little Star untangled herself form David’s neck and ran to him, with that giddy smile on her face, to wrap her hands around her legs.

“Maxie!”

By the way, Max totally hates kids! Like, he feels like snapping when one do something stupid near him. The only kid he likes/loves is Little Star.

“Why won’t you show Max what you did today?” David asked, but it didn’t sound like the voice was directed to anyone. His hands’ movements although were directed at the girl hugging Max’s knees. She grinned at that and left Max’s legs. Only then he felt that they could turn into jelly!!! But somehow he managed to stand still, without falling down. Inner Max patted him on the back.

Scene #6.3

Someone save him, because he felt like collapsing. Especially as David turned his head from following Little Star movements to Max.

And Max’s brain once again did the cursing/swearing sequence.

“How are you doing, Max? We didn’t see each other in like-“

“Seven years.” Why did his brain decided to end David’s sentence? What the fuck was wrong with him?

But it didn’t look like the red-haired male took a notice of this as he continued smoothly:

“Oh my golly, it has been already seven years! You’ve grown up so much.” David said, in that ever happy-tone. Then he closed his mouth, hummed and stepped closer. It took a lot of Max’s inner strength not to step back. Then David’s hand moved from the top of his head to the top of Max’s one. “You even overgrew me! I’m amazed!”

“It just genes.” Max answered, but he felt kind of proud, even though he really didn’t have a reason.

“Ah don’t say that, Max. I’m sure you drunk a lot of milk.” David continued, didn’t fazed by the Max’s interruption. Maybe he even looked glad for it. “You sure changed a lot. Although the blue blouse didn’t. Do they make it also for adults?”

Okay, with that he can deal. So Max rolled his eyes.

“Of course, I still wear the same blouse I had since I was a kid.”

“Wait, really?”

“No.”

As you can see Max isn’t such little/tall shit. Well he usually is a little/tall shit, but he calmed a lot through the years. Although when he doesn’t like someone, he isn’t afraid to show his displeasure and dislike. He is still snarky, sarcastic shit in the end.

David suddenly stopped talking, while looking with wide eyes at Max who was like – shit, did he say something wrong? But no, he had been his usual self. What if-

But then David started to laugh and Max was like –

Fuck

His heart

Which skipped a beat after hearing this laughter.

But gladly he wasn’t frozen for long, cause Little Star was back and proudly showed him a tiny platypus she had made from a plasticine.

Max grabbed and stared at it. It wasn’t that or the most realistic platypus (for starters, it was blue, like very bright blue), but it had some childish charm to it. Plus Little Star made it, so it added a hundred points to the final mark!

Max signed to her ‘It’s amazing! I can see you put a lot of effort into it!’

He did it very sloooow.

But Little Star smiled at him and signed back ‘It’s for you!’

Max tried really hard not to grin, but the half-smirk still appeared on his face. He signed one more time ‘thanks’ and then pocketed the figurine.

Nikki totally stole it later by the way. Max was furious while he searched through his whole room for that figurine only to find in on Nikki’s desk.

Back to the main plot.

Then Max lifted his face and boom, David was smiling so proudly at him with tears in the corners of his eyes.

Scene #6.4

“Awww Max~ that was so sweet!” He cooed and this made Max so embarrassed.

“Fuck, shut up David!”

“Language, Max!”

Okay, I think this is all for part 2 I guess? I had this whole story kind of planned out in my head and it started to turn into a fanfic what the fcuk!

Anyhoo there will be some NSFW parts later? Maybe!? Idk really (I mean, in my head they are there, but I don’t know if I add them here). But sorry, I’m a hardcore fan of bottom!David so yeah… you now know what you can expect in the future~

Love!

[embracetheapocalypsewithme]

The Love You Take

I wrote this piece for @jeffreydeanneganstrash​‘s awesome 1K challenge. Congrats on the followers!! 

My prompt was “Melpomene - Greek Muse of Tragedy“, and I chose to focus on Negan as my character. Because of course I did! This story takes place around the events of issue 170 of the comics, so there may be a few spoilers, but not many. Since Melpomene was originally also the muse associated with music, I decided to incorporate some music into the story.

This isn’t smutty at all, and is actually quite dark in comparison to my usual stuff. Be forewarned that there is talk of suicide, so if that is a trigger for you, please be aware. 

Summary: After being exiled from Alexandria, Negan finds himself living alone near the place he buried his beloved Lucille. After he begins to hear mysterious music playing at night, he decides to investigate its source. Has he found a new companion? 

Word Count: 2,138

Warnings: Depictions of, and talk of suicide and methods. Depictions of depression. Pills.

The Love You Take

Once there was a way to get back homeward...

Negan’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of music drifting through the window next to his bed, which he had left ajar before going to sleep. Faint piano chords were carried in on the breeze from a distant location. Christ! How long had it been since he’d heard another human voice, let alone actual music?

Once there was a way to get back home.

The darkness inhabiting this still-unfamiliar room seemed to press against him as he waited for his eyes to adjust to it. Groaning, Negan heaved his body from the mattress and stood, bare-chested in front of the window. His eyes scanned the street outside before moving on to the other buildings in the vicinity. He saw nothing to indicate the source of the sound.

Sleep pretty darling, do not cry…

“Fucking Beatles?”

He mumbled the half-formed question to himself. His voice was still hoarse from sleep and the words were eaten up by the night.

And I will sing a lullaby.

Lucille had listened to The Beatles once upon a time, while Negan had always been more of a Neil Young kind of guy. The Beatles were a little bit too saccharine and lovey-dovey for him, and he often teased his wife about her penchant for listening to “that hippy bullshit”, as he called it. She had taken his teasing in stride, offering him only patronizing smiles and promises that he might understand why she liked this music someday if he ever managed to grow a heart.

The momentary flash of earlier, happier memories sent a shiver down his spine and caused his breath to catch in his throat as if he had been doused with ice water. He allowed himself only a minute of regret-soaked nostalgia before pulling on his typical white t-shirt and leather jacket combination, and heading for the door. After taking the stairs to the first floor two at a time, he raced into the street outside of the house he had been sleeping in, and stood still in an attempt to pinpoint where the music was coming from.

By the time the rest of the band had kicked up and Paul McCartney began to advise him that he was going to “carry that weight a long time”, Negan had determined that the sound was coming from the north east. He began to make his way through the abandoned town in search of the mystery DJ, still cognizant of the fact that the noise was likely to draw every walker in the area to him.

Maybe that had been the point.

Was this Rick the Prick fucking with him for some reason? Or maybe it was someone new. Someone watching him, waiting to draw him away from his meager supplies long enough to swipe them and run off before he got back.

This thought caused Negan to stop dead in his tracks. He stood in the open street trying to decide whether he should retreat back to the abandoned house he had been sleeping in for the week since he had left Alexandria, or if he should keep searching for the music’s source.

And in the middle of the celebration I break down.

Swallowing the completely founded paranoia he felt, he decided to press on, following the trail of melody into the moon-lit night. This mystery was too intriguing. And who fucking knew? Maybe he was wrong about something for once!

At last he came to a tall, industrial building on the edge of the town. By now the music had swelled enough, due mostly to his proximity to it, for Negan to determine that this building was its fountainhead. The large man stood in the shadow of the edifice, staring up at a faint light emitting from its topmost floor. He thought that the place reminded him a little of the Sanctuary, and this connection caused a smirk to spread across his face.

“Let’s see who the fuck you are,” he mumbled before carefully grasping the main door’s metal handle to yank it open.

Standing away from the open doorway, he waited for a moment to see if a walker would emerge. Actual humans, of course, weren’t so careless as to walk out into the unknown. If there were any of those pent up in the building, they would likely be hiding. Waiting.

Negan quietly trespassed the threshold leading into the main floor of the building. Taking another pause to look around the grim surroundings, he eventually came to a stairwell which seemed to climb the entire building in a tight zig-zag from floor to floor. As he followed the stairs up with his eyes, a glimmer of hope sprang to life within him.

Other people could mean danger. But they could also mean companionship.

He had not been as utterly alone as he was now since the days just after Lucille had died all those years ago. Even during his time in Alexandria’s jail there had been some companionship for him. Fuck yes, he’d had visitors! More than even Rick knew about at the time; and thank god for that! If he had known that his precious, little son had been visiting ol’ Neegs every so often, that prick would have absolutely shut that shit down.

As much as he hated to admit it, preferring to think of himself as a self-sufficient badass, Negan needed other people. The solitary nature of his current situation was driving him to the brink of hopelessness, even with Lucille buried nearby.

Although he had chosen to come alone to this place, thinking that perhaps living in proximity to his wife’s wooden embodiment would comfort him, he needed human interaction in order to keep the ever-present grief he felt from spilling over into his conscious mind. It was the only way he could go on for much longer. Solitude, for him, meant death.

Negan mounted the stairs as quietly as possible, his footfalls masked by the repetition of the music drifting down to him from above: “Love you. Love you. Love you. Love you…” the lyrics promised. He didn’t put much stock in omens, but maybe this was a good sign.

“Love you. Love you…”

With each step, he began to construct an image of who he might find when he reached the top floor. Maybe the person playing the music would be a woman who would look at him with soft eyes and a kind smile. She would never know anything about his past fuck ups, or the multitude of terrible things he had done as the leader of the Saviors. Maybe she would let him stay with her, and they would fall in love. He could protect her from the harsh world outside and they would fall asleep each night in one another’s arms, totally oblivious to the fact that they were living in a dead world.

Finally, he reached the top of the stairs and came face-to-face with a grey metal door. His heart fluttered up to his throat like a caged bird as he gingerly reached for the leaver that would grant him access to the room. After a deep breath, Negan pushed the lever down and allowed the door to swing open with a shrill creek that echoed against the concrete walls. The music’s volume ramped up without the door there to block it from fully entering his ears.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love…you make…

He stepped into the room and took in the tableau before him. A single, flickering lamp sat on top of a wooden crate next to the room’s main window. Beside this was a second crate, which held an old-fashioned boom box from which the music played.

The song began to wind down in a chorus of swirling instruments and voices, coming to a crescendo before dying out entirely. There was a few seconds of static before the tape that had been playing ran out and the play button on the machine popped up with an audible click that was much too loud in the somber room, causing him to jump slightly.

His gaze then fell upon something in the room’s corner, which he took to be a pile of blankets and pillows; perhaps some kind of make-shift bed for the room’s inhabitant. It was a bit too dimly lit to make out any details, so he strode toward the lamp with the intention of using it to check out his surroundings more carefully.

Upon nearing the table, he noticed a small, spiral-bound book which sat open near the lamp. Intrigued, he picked it up and read the words written on the page to which it had been left open:

Nick has been gone for more than a month now. I know he won’t be back. He’s probably dead. The biggest herd of roamers that I have ever seen came through just after he left to go hunting, and I’m sure they were coming from the direction he had gone in.

I’m too afraid to leave. I’d rather die just about any other way than being ripped apart by those things. The food ran out last week and the water just yesterday. I’ll be dead soon too, either by choice or by circumstance.

At least he left me with the medication. Lots of pills should do the trick. I didn’t know how many to take, so I just took them all. I hope I won’t suffer.

I just want to go to sleep and then this will be over. If there’s a God, maybe he’ll understand. I just don’t want to die alone and in pain. I know Nick won’t come back and find me like this. There’s that little bit of comfort at least.

I can feel the pills taking hold now. Kind of a numb tingle in my legs and arms. It’s almost nice, aside from the nausea. I hope that passes soon. I’ll put on some music to fall asleep to. Music always calms me down.

What should my last song be? Maybe if I time it right I can drift off to the end of the Abbey Road medley. That’s always a pretty song…

Love you,

Mel

The first low moans began from behind him as Negan crumpled the paper and tossed it to the floor beside the crate. He took out the hunting knife he carried without turning around immediately. He already knew what he would find in the corner of the room under the blankets and pillows.

As he strode toward the pile of fabric and foam which had begun to twitch and move as the newly-turned walker under it rose from the floor, Negan forced himself to take a breath. Every step he took was a door to his heart closing off, sealing himself away from disappointment and loneliness.

“Fucking stupid bitch,” his voice was dull and lifeless in the cold room, “Couldn’t fucking even try to get through it. After all that. Fucking waste of space.”

Another moan met him in response and he readied the knife. “Mel” stood before him. Her skin had a deathly cast to it, and vomit trailed down her chin and across her chest. From the looks of her, Negan wasn’t so sure that she had gotten her wish for a painless death.

As the blade of his knife pushed through her skull, he wondered if “Mel” had been short for Melanie or Melissa. What did it matter now? She was dead and gone before he even got to the front door.

“Fuck you!” he grunted, pulling the knife out of her head and watching the body drop to the floor.

Taking one last look at the room, Negan felt the sting of tears threatening to breach his eyes, but he fought them back. The apathetic and mercenary side of him took over in order to protect him from the knowledge that perhaps he and Mel weren’t all that different. They were both alone, low on hope, and nearing the end of a pointless and stupid journey.

Maybe that’s why he hated her so much in that moment: she reflected all of the parts of him that he had to keep in check in order to keep going every day. These were the parts of him that whispered to him at night as he lay alone in the abandoned house, telling him to give up and give in.

Mel had pills. He had a gun. How much longer until the call of the abyss was too loud to ignore?

“Fuck you,” he whispered bitterly to himself, and left the room that had become a monument to desperation and misery, vowing to move on from this town in the morning. There was nothing for him here.

On a personal note, this is the first thing I have written in over a month (which is quite a while for me!), so it’s kind of a big deal to me. I hope you all like it and it’s not too sad. :)

[stokan]

The 20 Best Things of 2016

Fun fact: Many good things actually happened in the year 2016. It’s true! It wasn't all death and Trump, although as you’ll see, those two factors hang heavy over even the best of things. But just like every year, 2016 still managed to produce its fair share of great art, cultural triumphs, and viral delights. Leaving out, obviously, things from 2016 that it seems like I’ll probably love but have yet to experience (OJ: Made in America, Search Party, 20th Century Women, Fences, etc.), and TV shows I’ve already written about in years past (OITNB, Transparent, You're the Worst, Veep, etc) here are my top 20 favorite things from 2016, listed in no particular order:

1. Beyonce - “Formation” video

How upset old white people were about this should give you some idea of just how great it is.

When I was growing up, the biggest music video from the biggest female pop star of the day involved her dancing around suggestively in a Catholic school girl outfit. Trump may have won the election, but progress still remains undefeated.

2. Kendrick Lamar’s Grammys Performance

(Of course this isn't anywhere on the internet for me to link to. Because Neil Portnow.)

Kendrick’s performance was the performance that Kayne always thinks he is giving. It’s a performance that made everyone else who took the stage on Music’s Biggest Night seem like talent show contestants.

I don’t want to tell artists how to use their fame, but this is how they should use their fame.

3. Last Week Tonight - #MakeDonaldDrumpfAgain

SPOILER ALERT: He didn't make Donald Drumpf again. In fact the viral success of this piece and lack of any resultant effect on Trump whatsoever does raise some big questions about the effectiveness of comedy in actually changing anyone’s mind about anything in 2016. But yet, like death from a thousand paper cuts, it definitely drew a little blood. And even though I really wish John Oliver had stuck with guns and only referred to Trump as Drumpf for the rest of the year, it was still a more thorough and effective attack ad than anything the Clinton campaign managed to put together, and that was basically their whole job. John Oliver can never be president, but the world is going to be a better place as long as he keeps trying to help decide who will be.

Also, says everything about 2016 that this piece now feels like it came out ten thousand years ago.

4. La La Land

Hey, remember joy? And love? And having hopes and dreams? Well La La Land sure does! The best and worst thing you can say about it is that it’s a pre-Trump movie. Maybe the last one ever in fact. But for my money, Damien Chazelle’s quest to Make Musicals Great Again is exactly the tonic we need right now. And it seems fitting the Oscars after the death of Debbie Reynolds are going to be headlined by a colorful and happiness-inducing musical about show business, complete with its own dream ballet. Sometimes the best way to reinvent an art form is to just do it the same way its always been done, only better and at the right time.

5. Olympic Swimming

When the Olympics began I barely cared. I was raised on the Olympics, but in 2016 there’s so much else going on it felt like maybe time has passed the Olympics by. And then the swimming started. And Ledecky destroyed all challengers. And Phelps proved that calling him the greatest swimmer of all time is still underrating him. And Simone Manuel made history. And Lochte Lochted. And Anthony Ervin spun an all-time Olympic athlete backstory into Olympic gold. And for a week there was nothing in the world more compelling than watch people swim laps in a pool.

So turns out the Olympics are the Michael Phelps of sporting events - the second you think they’ve slipped a bit is when they have you right where they want you.

6. LVL Up - “Pain”

Point: Rock and roll is dead

Counterpoint: “Pain” by LVL Up

7. Stranger Things

I hate the 80s. I hate supernatural shows and horror-based shows and “genre” shows in general. I hate homage as the starting place for a work of art. I hate culture’s obsession with nostalgia and youth. And yet I loved Stranger Things. It felt like nothing else on TV while feeling like so many other things all at once. It’s the show Lost wishes it could have been, and what JJ Abrams wishes he had made instead of Super 8.

Also: I hate that there’s going to be a season two. I hate that dialogue around the show seemed so #TeamBarb when clearly any sane right-thinking person is #TeamNancy all the way. I preemptively hate all the imitators Stranger Things is going to spawn. And I hate the Stranger Things backlash that’s inevitably coming and coming hard. But right now, in this moment, let’s all embrace a wonderful television ride and not worry about the demigorgons in the woods coming to put slugs in its mouth.

#KeepHawkinsWeird

8. Flossie Dickey

Sometimes you find true love where you least expect it. Like in an interview with a 110-year woman at a nursing home.

9. Sam Donsky on The Ringer

(Speaking of soul mates…)

In the age of Trump it’s more important than ever that we have writers brave enough to ask the tough questions. Like: Who would win the Oscar for Best Baby? What is the best night any celebrity has ever had at Madison Square Garden? And why does David Benioff always thank his wife by her full name?

From analyzing the Kim/Kayne/Taylor tapes like they're the Zapruder film, to asking 74 questions about a film no one saw or liked, 2016 was the year Sam Donsky officially made himself into this generation’s Woodward and Bernstein, if Woodward and Bernstein were mostly known for dissecting dumb pop culture on the internet. We may never fully understand why Trump won, but, also, what’s up with Chris Pratt’s vests?

10. Black-ish - “Hope”

A perfect piece of writing and a perfect argument for the continued existence of network TV.

That being said though, 40 years ago this would be a classic TV episode people would talk about for generations. Now, it didn't even get nominated for an Emmy. Maybe network TV is just beyond saving.

11. The People vs. OJ Simpson

It’s almost a cliche at this point to point out how many societal issues the OJ Simpson case touched on, but watching this miniseries unfold was a great reminder that looking at the the past is usually the best vehicle for exploring the present. To choose just one example, the scene where the jurors argue over what to watch on TV is a perfect encapsulation of how something like a Trump victory could some day be possible. And if Marcia Clark isn't a perfect Hillary Clinton avatar then I don’t know who is. My only complaints about a perfect eight hours of television are that it wasn't longer and that Sarah Paulson and Courtney B. Vance aren't eligible for Oscars.

12. Samantha Bee’s Donald Trump Conspiracy Theory

Look, I don't want to say that Full Frontal with Samantha Bee is the best and most important show on TV. That is has the best joke writers in the business. That it has the righteous anger and indignation that this year called for. That it’s going to be our guiding light for the next four years. And that it’s proof that giving The Daily Show to Trevor Noah was one of the dumbest decisions in recent television history. All I’m saying is that some people are saying that, and who am I to disagree? If I was going to make claims that outlandish, I guess the first pieces of evidence I would direct you to are this already iconic Donald Trump conspiracy and the show’s Harriet Tubman segment. But I’m not one to make accusations about things using facts and evidence. I’m no expert; I’m just a guy. A guy standing in front of samanthabee.com asking it to to love him.

13. David Bowie - “Lazarus” video

The ultimate mic drop.

They say Native Americans used to make use of every part of the buffalo. David Bowie was like that, only the buffalo was his life.

14. SNL

“Farewell Mr. Bunting”

Having enough trust in your audience and your vision to attempt this sketch is super inspiring. Getting people in 2016 to wait through two and a half minutes of build up in a viral video before it pays off feels like a miracle. And getting the feeling back in my face when I finally finish laughing at this is going to be really great.

“Black Jeopardy” This is what comedy can do when its at it’s best. It cuts to truths about America more clearly and cleanly than 1,000 think pieces ever could. Are comedy sketches eligible for the Nobel Prize in Literature now?

“Hillary Clinton/Hallelujah” And this is what comedy can do when it’s not comedy at all. When historians 200 years from now want to know what the days just after the election of Donald Trump felt like all they need to do is watch this. The best thing SNL has ever done.

15. Songs That Made Me Unsure Whether I Should Be Sad, Dance, Or Both

Christine and the Queens - “iT”

I have absolutely no idea what this song is about. All I know is it sounds like the feeling of being alive. Between this song and Marion Cotillard’s eyes the French really continue to have the whole beautiful sadness thing figured out.

Eleanor Freiberger - “My Mistakes” The best Rilo Kiley song of 2016. The world can change however it wants; as long as it keeps giving me new versions of the exact song I’m totally good.

Mike Posner - “Took a Pill in Ibiza” The exact opposite of me is an EDM-influenced song about taking drugs in a nightclub in Ibiza. Yet here we are. Turns out that existential melancholy translated into Douche from the original Neurotic Intellectual is still pretty damn relatable. And yes I realize this song came out in 2015, but this will always be the sound of 2016 to me.

16. Moonlight

Moonlight feels like a miracle. That a serious drama without any name stars about a poor, gay, black man coming of age could be made at all, yet alone breakthrough into the popular consciousness. That a cast this natural and flawless could be found, like an album where every song that comes on makes you go “no THIS one is my favorite!”. That there are two different sets of three actors so similar and so good that when I see them together doing press it hurts my brain because I can’t process that they were not ACTUALLY the same person at three different ages. That two people making small talk at a table in a diner could have a whole audience on the edge of their seats. That a no-name director with one prior little-seen credit could create the most powerful and well-made movie of the year. None of these things seems possible or plausible, and yet they're all true. This movie is a miracle. And its success gives me hope. To quote critic Dana Stevens, in the pitch-black year of Trump, Moonlight was a “crack in the wall that allowed light to shine through”.

17. Atlanta

In 2016, what even is TV? It’s basically anything now. And it’s everything. It’s whatever it wants to be. And no artist has yet risen to meet the challenge and possibility of our post-Louie world better than Donald Glover has. In 2016 Atlanta is TV, and TV is Atlanta. There are no rules. There is only what you can dream up.

What will season two of Atlanta be? It could be literally anything and no one would bat an eye.

18. Chance the Rapper - Coloring Book

Chance the Rapper is so millennial it hurts. Chance the Rapper definitely has strong feelings about safe spaces and Bernie Sanders. Chance the Rapper has never even considered doing something ironically. Chance the Rapper makes Lin-Manuel Miranda look like a cynical pessimist. Hell, Chance the Rapper named himself Chance the Rapper. And as a millennial, Chance the Rapper is the future.

And the future sounds amazing.

The future is like if Old Kanye had been raised on new Kanye and was actually good at rapping. (As the old saying goes: every generation gets the Late Registration it deserves) The future is like if Picasso painted with emojis. The future is earnestness being the new aggression. The future is Future being the past.

Hip-hop is dead, long live hip-hop.

19. “A Closer Look” on Late Night With Seth Meyers

I almost left this reoccurring segment off my list of the best of 2016 because it’s become such a constant part of my life that I assumed it had been around longer than just this year. Who knew when Jon Stewart retired that the new iteration of The Daily Show would be called Late Night With Seth Meyers? Or as I call it: Essential.

20. Revisionist History Podcast

Facts and knowledge really took a beating in 2016, but turns out both are still great if you just re-examine them rather then throw them out all together. Perhaps looking more deeply into our assumptions about the world can help us better understand human nature and the reality we all share. Who knew?

Of everything I experienced in 2016 this podcast is the thing I reference most frequently. I’m fun at parties.

[adamsetser]

Documenting 2016 in Mental Pictures

Following my Documenting 2015 in Mental Pictures, here are the highlights from my life in 2016. These are just some of the biggest lessons learned in a (pretty) random series of mental pictures. Here we go.

Motivation will never last, but discipline will.

Why do I have such high standards for myself? Is it pride? Insecurity? I honestly don’t think so. I think we humans in 21st c. America have missed the boat. I judge myself historically and I fall dramatically short of that standard. The culture I was born into values entertainment and pleasure over discipline and greatness. We have lost definitions, and with them lost meaning and the ability to answer with convictional definitiveness the basic questions of life. I am blessed: in my illness I was given the gift of education (albeit a meager dosage), and now I am simply living the life I think is only proper. But I feel odd: I’m not the American ideal. I have been given convictions by someone other than what my eyes and ears see around me, and that can make me appear arrogant. But it’s not about that; it’s about what I see, about a vision I can’t forget.

Seeing is only ever described these days as physical—something that happens with the eyes and the brain—but the word originated with an intellectual seeing: an understanding.1 To see, the mind must be opened, trained to observe what is already there but what it is overlooking. We all are born blind, and just like Sherlock Holmes, we must learn to acquire vision of things: what is there and what is not; the value of things. This is education—and experience. When someone asks me why I read so much or love history and art, it tells me they’ve fundamentally missed the boat on what it is we were created to do. They don’t see what is gripping me. They don’t see that it isn’t me pursuing that stuff; it won’t let me go. If they saw, they would know.

We weren’t created for ourselves, but for Him: we’re made to behold Him. And beholding isn’t passive; it’s active. It’s a shaping of the mind and the senses to be able to perceive Him as He is, to see glory and see it as glorious. To see the final kick of the soccer ball to win the world cup as what it really is, not as a random man kicking a white ball into a smallish net. We are arrogant materialists, assuming we see all there is to see, and if not, that it doesn’t matter and wouldn’t change our lives in any way: thus, we explain away our need for God, and our ability to enjoy Him. Thus, we miss the boat…and the joy ride.

Joy isn’t in indulgence, it’s in restraint. You can’t enjoy a sunset if you have a cell phone dinging in your pocket, a loud neighbor playing music, and a dog pulling at your pants leg. You find joy in focus, and focus is precious—the result of limitation. You pay for it with attention: you pay attention, and you reap experience. Joy is deep…so deep it’s often compared to pain. For greater joy, you must limit—you must discipline. You must say no.

You can’t be an expert in everything, and chances are when you try to be you’ll fail at being even decent at one thing; therefore, you must limit. You have to make the hard choice to intentionally shield yourself from things and information. You can live by whim and serendipity, but you’ll never go far. If you want to GO somewhere and BECOME someone because of your journey, you have to limit yourself to one trip and discipline yourself to stick to the path. Discipline is freedom.

The most valuable thing in the universe is the Truth, and the most valuable thing you and I can possess is character (or, integrity to that Truth). And character is only forged in slow, laborious applications of Truth to your life in creative, imaginative ways that sneak around your defenses and teach you who you really are.

Character is who you are when nobody is watching: when you go against your conscience, you go against God (Jam 4:17).2 Your relationship with God isn’t “off” when you’re alone and “on” when you’re around others. It’s 80% in your heart where only you live. Which is why true character and spirituality is fought for where no one will ever see. They will see the fruits, absolutely, but never the roots.

Learning is often explained in the metaphor of a journey, and as with all journeys, you can’t arrive without starting, without getting lost and finding your way back. And none of this even happens if you exit and stop at an entertainment shop and plug your brain into the entertainment vortex all day after work. You can’t develop deep trains of thought that burrow into the great unknown and find vision without reading and thinking in long, plodding spurts. The internet trains us to think in soundbites, to access information instead of understand it, to use it instead of see with it. We need to sit still and read, think, meditate, ponder, and eventually, see.

We become what we worship and we worship what we spend the most time on. Most Americans worship themselves and pay their attention to their own pleasure in entertainment. But if we are lifted from this self-focused gaze to behold an infinitely higher and more glorious Being and reality, we are changed to be like Him, to be satisfied by Him, and experience His joy.

I’m exhausted from emotionally engaging the news. So I gave it up as a focus and now just dip in when I have the time and reason to. Finding a reason to is what then allows me to connect what I’m reading in the news to what I’m learning in eternal truth, and that doesn’t exhaust me. It feeds me. It’s hunting with a rifle instead of a shotgun.

News is information that is just-in-time, but I crave information that is just-always-the-case. Not to say news is bad; it’s just a small piece of the puzzle.

Television is destroying our culture. Or, better put, Satan is destroying our culture through manipulating the inherent evil in fallen human nature, and television is playing a huge part:

Neil Postman provided some clues about this in his illuminating 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business. The media scholar at New York University saw then how television transformed public discourse into an exchange of volatile emotions that are usually mistaken by pollsters as opinion. One of the scariest outcomes of this transition, Postman wrote, is that television essentially turns all news into disinformation. "Disinformation does not mean false information. It means misleading information—misplaced, irrelevant, fragmented or superficial information—information that creates the illusion of knowing something but which in fact leads one away from knowing ... The problem is not that television presents us with entertaining subject matter but that all subject matter is presented as entertaining.”3

Television does the seeing for us, and it tricks our minds into thinking it knows when really is doesn’t. Seeing isn’t believing. Seeing with the mind is believing, and the imagination is all but dead when the TV screen comes on.

I’m not against TV, but I hold it at arms-length because I know the damage it can do: namely, to train me to simply see the surface of things and form judgments based on emotion instead of fact.

Discernment is the art of judging well, it’s a mental process. It is obvious that if you abuse your mind by never reading or building it up or making it stronger or more capable, you will have bad discernment, and that will affect every area of your life. It is very important to renew your mind.

Being a Christian is about striving. It’s about never letting go of ideals in the face of failure and inevitable hypocrisy. We all will fail, and yet we are called to wake up every day and make it our goal to be like God (Matt 5:48). That tension gives way to cynicism before long, because it never happens for us. We are fighting the long defeat. But the antidote to hypocrisy is confession. When we confess our sins to God, He is faithful and just to forgive us and cleans us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9). Thus, we are no hypocrite, just sheep being led by our shepherd. We all stumble in many ways (Jam 3:2; cf. Rom 7).

Don’t believe the lie. Ever. But specifically, don’t believe the lie that darkness is good, that a little dark side is a good addition to the Christian life. Let it go. Your past is evil and part of the past. Instead of dwelling on it, dwell on Christ and whatever is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, or of good reputation (Phil 4:8). There are no medals in heaven for angsty Christians who are “in touch” with the darkness.

Don’t get carried away with cynicism: don’t let the darkness invade your worldview. Never truly respect J. D. Salinger, David Foster Wallace, or other angsty, secular authors. They speak the truth as they see it, but they are in rebellion against their Creator, and you should do everything you can to NOT want to be like them. Never stop seeing life as a comedy instead of a tragedy. The precursor to faith is laughter, not angst.

A friend of mine posted on Facebook:

Just saw Rogue One for the second time, and I was reminded of this old Latin phrase which was Caravagio's personal motto: NEC SPE, NEC METU. It means “without hope or fear." It's the idea of going into a battle with no hope of winning and thus no fear because you know you're fighting for something bigger than yourself, and there is hope for something larger than your own failure or success. I think that's what the movie was about. I am with the Force and the Force is with me.4

THAT is the proper balance between hope and cynicism.

But overall, In the day-to-day, moment-by-moment Christian battle, cynicism and humor aren’t all that great. The Christian life is a war (Eph 6:12) and there is no place for that in the trenches. I don’t want a man guarding my back who reads (and worships) Catch 22. I’d rather him read Homer’s Iliad and, in his hubris, think himself the mighty Ulysses for heaven’s sake. Give me hubris over cynicism any day. Give me courage, honor, and bravery (even a little naivety!) from a heart that believes his mission over a witty writer-type who thinks he is better for harboring mistrust at the world. Humor is great, don’t get me wrong. But when it is used to undermine, it’s evil.

Strength is required, because life is a war. And strength requires humility because you can’t leave room for failure. It’s the hipster mantra to undersell, downplay, and side-step, but when the bullets are flying I want a level-headed, accurate assessment of the situation, and fearless strength to carry out the mission.

You have to learn to be optimistic. that’s not innate. You have to indoctrinate yourself that things will turn out for good, that God is a God of love, that His plan for you is perfect and without fault. When you begin to lose hope, anchor your soul to Him (Heb 6:19) like a tree planted by streams of water (Psalm 1). Grope for those ideals and hang onto them, even when your whole heart is saying something different. Thankfulness and positivity is a spiritual discipline, not an emotion.

Okay, so thankfulness is an emotion, but it is a by-product of thanksgiving, which is a verb. So, go give thanks for things, and eventually you will begin to feel thankful. And that gratitude will lead you to Joy.

Never underestimate the power of small sins. Your heart is a sin-factory and it is very sensitive. Evil gets into you and when you let it grow it will devastate your worldview and then the motivation for your morality. Then all the chains of cause-and-effect you have set up in your Christian life will fall away and you’ll be left virtue-less. Example: you will stop giving thanks for God’s good gifts, and then you will lose your gratitude and lose your joy, and at the end of the day you will stand there waving your fist at God and praying “restore unto me the joy of my salvation”, which is a decent thing to pray, but if you never go and fix the root of the problem, you’ll never heal.

When you are a regular joe working a secular job, why do you really need godliness? This question is one of my favorites because I have so thoroughly explored it—because I was a doubter and wanted a way out of that high calling of Matt 5:48. But since I am God’s child, I have that calling still. Here is why.

We all have two callings:

Primarily, we have a vertical, spiritual calling. We are called to love God with our whole beings (Deut 6:5; Mark 12:30), to be like God (Matt 5:48).

Secondarily, we have a horizontal, worldly calling. We are called to love others as we love ourselves (Mark 12:31), to subdue the earth and reign over it in discerning right from wrong (Gen 1:28) and to serve the world with the work we do, doing it to the glory of God, not to men (1 Cor 10:31).

How those two work themselves out is different for everyone, but we all need Him, desperately, and we all also need hard work, desperately, daily.

For the love of all that is holy, read more books. Begin by reading this: the best article I’ve ever read on reading.

“In fact, for the first two hundred years of its existence, the word “vision” referred exclusively to sight with the mind’s eye, whether in the form of a prophetic or mystical revelation, or simply the contemplation of a thing not actually present. Only later, in the late 1400s, did it come to mean bodily sight” (Source). ↩︎

Which is why you should follow your conscience but also educate it with God’s Word to know what truly is good and what truly is evil. That is called discernment. ↩︎

Source. ↩︎

Citation: Taylor Reynolds. ↩︎

[ryderxmms]

folks ... it is i, chelly, once again to introduce you to another one of my children !! ryder is a goof. a musical goof. who’s definitely been Through It, but he’s a lovable guy and i hope you’ll feel the same way after reading all about him !! if you’d like to plot please like this so i can hit you up and shower you in love !!

tw: alcoholism, abuse, angst

                 * : ･ﾟ･✧･ RYDER STELLAN SIMMS ･✧･ﾟ･ : *

— && guests may mistake me as ( brenton thwaites ), but really i am ( ryder simms + cis male + he/him ) and my DOB is ( 3/3/1997 ). i am applying for the ( bartender ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 207 ). i should be hired because i am ( relaxed & creative ), but i can also be ( despondent & temperamental ) at times. personally, i like to ( write music, play the drums & guitar, go skateboarding ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work.

this is another ... long read .... and for that i am so sorry listen the muse just be pouring out sometimes but like

TL:DR - ryder’s childhood was confusing and rough for the boy; his parents weren’t good together, in fact they probably brought out the worst in each other. his mother was a depressed woman for much of his childhood and his father was an alcoholic that could be abusive one night and a party the next. music was his solace through out all of it and ryder latched onto his drum kit and guitar for support. it’s just been he and his mom since they moved from seattle to chicago years ago and his sole focus has been on music and doing whatever he can to make it work. he’s got a band called one night stand and he’s really passionate about it & hope to get a record deal one of these days. really he’s just a theater kid, a goof, this loveable guy who will fight for his friends as the loyal guy he is, but otherwise isn’t rough or tough. he’s incredibly passionate and appreciative, like will literally give you the shirt off his back if you need it. he’s been through a lot over the years and he’s felt lost and empty at plenty of points in his life, but there’s a lightness to this boy/

connections: you can find ryder’s connection page right over here and would be open to any of them !! but i’d especially love to see a bandmate, flirtationship, gym buddy, or ride or die for this boyyo

*:･ﾟ･✧･ where it all began: in life, ryder’s always been pretty honest about how fucked up his life is, or at least has been, he grew up in a broken home, truth be told. his parents were far from perfect - just two blue-collared adults struggling to make ends meet. sure, they were married, but that decision got made after his mother found out she was pregnant and there was nothing overtly romantic about any of it. they signed the courthouse paperwork and got a couple of inexpensive bands from the pawnshop and called it a day. from there on, there didn’t have a whole lot of love in their marriage, let alone household, and truly a lot of undeserving resentment had fallen onto ryder’s shoulders once he had been born. it was painfully obvious that neither of his parents were too eager to have a child, especially not with each other and while still only in their twenties, but nothing about that was ryder’s fault; obviously. while his parents tried to show him that they loved him, that they cared unconditionally, there were so many conditions that came with being a member of the simms household.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ about to set fire: ryder’s mother was miserable, clinically depressed and attempting to self-treat herself for the majority of her life, but at the least she was still far more present and caring towards ryder than his father was. he was miserable too, but his father’s version of self-medicating came in the form of alcohol after a long day’s work at the factory. he would slump down in the recliner in their living room and flip on the television, barely making it through an evening without getting drunk. for the longest time, the concept of drinking and getting drunk confused the shit out of ryder. his father was an alcoholic, there was no denying that, but his drunken stupors weren’t always the same. there were occasions where his father was what he later found to be considered a happy drunk - playing on the floor with ryder and laughing so loudly it rumbled against the walls and dancing with his mother to the radio in their kitchen. but then there were nights where his father was a mean drunk - shoving ryder to the floor, yelling so loudly that it shook the pictures on the wall, slapping his mother in their kitchen. whatever version of his father he or his mother was going to get was a mystery, and when things were good they seemed great, but when things were bad they seemed dangerous. ryder never questioned his mom when she’d take him out for a long ride and make him stay at grandma’s for a week. never questioned when she would shoo him upstairs to his room so that he didn’t have to deal with whatever was going on. never questioned why she stayed, either. why they were subjected to any of this. that was ryder’s world, it was his life, and it wasn’t until he grew up a little that he began to realize just how wrong everything was about his household.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ change of pace: it was a shocking mid-fall afternoon, rain pattering down against the windows and into the bucket that was collecting the rainwater from the leak in their roof, that everything seemed to change. ryder’s father came home in one of those happy drunken moments and announced to he and his mother that he was in love with another woman and was going to move in with her, was going to petition for a divorce and that it was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to him … ryder was thirteen at the time and he understand what it meant to be in love, what a divorce meant, what his father was: a cheating, alcoholic, sick man. to be quite honest, ryder wasn’t even that upset about the news - he quite figured that it might be the best thing for he and his mother. there was nothing picture perfect about their family, but maybe, just maybe, they’d at least all be better away from each other. but of course, as with the happy drunken nights came the angry drunken nights, and while ryder’s father stayed firm on wanting to get out of the house and leave his mother, there were a whole lot more fights and a lot more shoving and punching and kicking and bruises. then there were afternoons where they’d meet with an official to sign paperwork, shaking each other’s hands at the end of it all … the relationship confused ryder, it made him question what was to be considered ‘normal’ in his own life. what he wanted for himself in the future. he needed something to cope with the insanity of it all, and that was where music really came into play for the seattle boy.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ crash bang boom: ryder had always found himself to be obsessed with music - specifically the seattle born grunge era and all things rock and roll. he found that the loud sort of aggressive music was the best at drowning out whatever argument was going on down stairs. he dove into the era of 1980’s white snake or 1990’s nirvanna, everything that came before and in between and after, becoming quite the officianto. his favorite thing in the world was getting to pound on the drum kit in the band department at school before his mother came to pick him up from school. he was usually unable to take the bus back home considering he was in detention, often, and had to be picked up later in the afternoon, but ryder had an incentive to be kept late. it was an instrument that allowed him to expression his raging frustration in a constructive way, and the music teacher at his school wasn’t one to limit ryder’s , uh, creativity. he started checking out books from the library to teach himself how to play, stealing drum sticks from school and bringing them back home so he could bang on some pans just to get an idea of rhythms. every single semester he took music as an elective just so he was able to spend more time banging on drums. he started to learn some of the greatest drummer’s solos - john bonham’s good times bad times, keith moon’s who’s next, neil pearl’s the threes - anything that inspired him and was performed by the best. it certainly wasn’t easy, and he had begged his mother every year to help him pay for a drumset, but that wasn’t really a possibility for the family. his mother was essentially on her own after the divorce; despite the court-ordered child support being in place, she very rarely got sent a single check. so ryder had to work with what he had and what he had access to, but that passion for music never went away.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ sweet sixteen: when ryder had turned sixteen, he and his mother had moved down to chicago as she had gotten a job transfer there. she was being promoted to manage the new hair salon mastercuts was opening in the city and the opportunity was too good to pass up. being the angsty little shit that he was, ryder only agreed to move without kicking and screaming if she agreed to help get him into either music lessons with a drumming teacher, or get him his own kit. and considering his mother didn’t want to have to listen to the banging of drums in her own shoebox of a modest home they were able to afford in san diego, she agreed to sign him up for lessons. every summer since he was twelve, ryder had been mowing lawns and had saved up a pretty good chunk of change that helped sweeten the pot so his mother would help get him the rest of the money he’d need. and they just figured out how to make it work, and finally ryder was able to be mentored and taught by someone who actually knew what the fuck he was doing. he started to hang around all of the band and theater kids that he was going to school with since he finally felt that his talent was being fostered and he belonged now. he was a real musician. that interest carried onto social media, as it did for mostly everyone his age, and he started scrolling through his instagram feed and every cover of his favorite artists on youtube. it led ryder to following a lot of kids his own age who were just as obsessed with music as he was, even befriending a few here and there. as soon as he was able to afford his own drum kit, after working endless hours dishwashing and bar-backing at any place in california that would hire his scruffy ass, ryder started petitioning to some local bands and groups to take him on. he was ambitious in only one thing in his life - playing music.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ one night stand: while ryder was pretty lax and even awkward in any other setting, playing in a stuffy bar even in front of three people was his comfort zone. he was lucky enough to be invited to play with a few bands over the years, always lying to say that he was older than he really was just to be let into whatever bar or club the band had booked. even when he was seventeen, he was lying to his bandmates saying that he was twenty one just so that they’d actually consider him. he drove around the most beat up 1999 pick-up truck that carried his kit and his ass to and from school, gigs, work, and for a long time ryder felt like he was living the dream. a kid like him, who grew up in the household that he did, didn’t deserve to be playing at house parties for rich fucks in chicago or dive bars in illinois. he rode with three bands before he found his ‘forever home’, and each one felt just as much like a family as the last, but sometimes even the good shit can’t last forever. bands would break up over the dumbest shit, like whos song was getting performed or wasn’t at a gig, over bigger shit, like someone having to move away or taking on a better opportunity with someone else. and for ryder, he just hated the inconsistency after awhile.

he knew that college was never going to be an option for him, and if he was going to do anything with his life, it was going to be music. it is all he has ever wanted to do with his life, but it hasn’t been easy and no one makes it overnight, even with the internet fame that one night stand was starting to get. instead of getting discouraged, as soon as ryder discovered an advertisement for the employee housing program at the malnati, and he knew what he was going to be off doing. if there was even a chance that he could serve a drink to some music producer, a tech, maybe even a recording artist … a talent manager or agency director … he needed to take the chance. he believe in his talent so very much and he knew that just going from bars to parties wasn’t going to be enough to get signed and actually on a real label that could get his music out to the rest of the world. besides, getting out of mom’s house and a place on his own sounded right, even if he was going to be living in a hotel. it wouldn’t have been the first time he did, and it wasn’t going to be the worst living situation of his life.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ when we started: ryder is insanely passionate about music, his music, and most importantly their band. while he’s a chill dude and understands that playing is as much a hobby for everyone in the group, it’s also something that he hopes to make a full-time career out of some day. ever since ryder was a little kid holling up in his room, trying to ignore the stinging bruises around his jaw, he dreamed of playing sold-out area tours in front of thousands of people and being able to stand there and the crowd in front of him sing back the songs that he had written, performed. he really believes in his band and their potential, encouraging them to write EPs and play whatever shows they could get hired for and to make the album that they’d been talking about for awhile. ryder gets very excitable about music, and it’s what he’s most confident in. while he may be a seemingly awkward or goofy kid otherwise, he’s an intense and confident drummer and that’s where his place of tranquility is despite all of the noise and chaos of playing. he’s constantly studying up on techniques and new drumlines and if there’s ever a time he gets to catch another band’s show, he liked to go see what everyone else is up to just out of curiosity. he’s a huge concert-goer and has been to as many warped tours as possible since he was a young teen. he’s crazy passionate, but he definitely understands that he may not be on the same wavelength as some of his bandmates, and that’s okay. their time will come when it comes, and since having moved out to chicago to be around everyone, he’s come to be really happy with that. they aren’t chasing radio hits and trying to figure out what the market wants - they’re making music that they like, that speaks to them, and they’re all having a really great time together just doing it. his mother is still close enough that he can go see her or give her a shout whenever he can, and he couldn’t care less about what happened to his father. ‘good riddance’ is all ryder would have to say about the man.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ don’t need nothing but a good time: by day, ryder bartends at the malnati making as many tips as possible, and by night, he’s out playing gigs with his band and most affectionately people who have become his best friends. he’s not afraid to throw a punch for any one of them, would also begrudgingly take one for them, too. he’s got a keen eye for which shots they should post to their instagram to gain the most traction, which definitely helps them out. he’s recently quit the nasty smoking habit that he formed looong ago, and now he fills that urge for a headrush with salty chips; it’s been a pretty effective cold turkey quit method, and ryder’s been proud of himself because of it. he’s enjoying himself as he is now, just another angsty kid trying to make it in the music industry, but it’s been something that he’s been able to transition into with the help of the people around him. he likes to have a good time, might take a little while to warm up to someone but once he does, it’s nothing but good vibes from there on out. he’s one of those selfless dudes who’d give you the shirt off his back and wouldn’t even expect a thank you. he’s a really appreciative person and passionate in almost everything that he does. he’s got so much soul inside his bones, and it shows in his music and how he interacts with those he cares for. there’s been a lot of times in ryder’s life where he’s felt shallow, empty, lost. but he’s rather found himself over the years as he’s grown into adulthood and has been able to provide for himself, and while he’s still chasing his dreams, he’s also riding the wave he’s on now and it’s been pretty great. there’s a lightness about him that might not be expected, but at his core that’s who he is.