#anyway here’s 19th nervous breakdown

[utilitycaster]

Fighter Breakdown Tracker, episode 3x78

Welcome to what was originally an opportunity to talk about the myriad wizards (not Myriad wizards, a separate concept) of Campaign 2 that occasionally gets co-opted into other things when the thought arises. Anyway, obviously the main event was the Barbarian Breakdown and, relatedly, the Party Breakdown, due to their Communication Breakdown, giving Allura Vysoren specifically her 19th Nervous Breakdown, but I've already talked a lot about Ashton. How are the fighters doing?

As a reminder: characters are included on the basis of 1. are they a fighter, 2. are they remotely relevant to this campaign, and 3. do I have something funny to say about them. I cannot stress enough how important item 3 is in the decision process; do not make requests, my muse speaks to me and that is how the characters (and, to be honest, classes) are chosen.

Cassandra de Rolo: Yes! According to the Tal'Dorei Campaign Setting (not reborn) she's multiclassed into fighter! Anyway that plan to go to the ziggurat went well, huh? totally normal and great. I like to think that due to her rogue levels she saw Fearne march down the ziggurat steps and just peaced out and has been chilling in Pike's little cabin ever since. 4/10: normal "is the world ending" concerns but otherwise she's having maybe the best day anyone on the Whitestone War Council can.

Jarett Howarth: he's specifically avoiding Bells Hells because motherfuckers keep teleporting from Marquet and not bringing any fusaka. This, plus normal "putting the Pale Guard on a war footing and also there's a really mad goat lady in the garden" bumps him up to a 6/10.

Orym: my serious thoughts about the space made for Chetney, FCG, and Imogen to step up aside I honestly think the semi-joking narrative of Orym going off in a huff and working out his feelings quite literally via the power of elaborate bodyweight calisthenics of the sort that grant you 20 Dex and 10 Str would be good for him. Allow yourself a little pettiness, Orym; it's good for the soul. 5/10 because I don't fucking know; we'll see next game.

Ariks Eshteross: I hope he's at peace and buried next to his love as requested; I still haven't gotten around to making those cookies actually and frankly I've had much more of an eye on the gunpowder tea shortbread. 0/10; I like to think he has found true rest.

Bertrand Bell: These motherfuckers have not visited the grave of their namesake at ALL. Traipsing around the Raven Queen's temple - literally everyone but Laudna and FCG has wandered over to that corner of the city - and NO ONE has taken a moment to pause and reflect. He died as he lived: everyone kind of setting him aside for more important matters except for followers of the Raven Queen. 8/10 because hopefully he was entertained by the raven show that got put on but also, come on man you couldn't stop by at all?

FRIDA: I have to imagine things in Vasselheim are wild and it's going to be missing FCG hours, but at least they're in great company! 5/10; they're a pretty even-keeled robot all things considered but the situation is pretty tense.

Otohan Thull: My sole regret about how great this episode is and the fact that we're dropping into the Fey Realm for a bit to have some much-needed time to regroup is that we are likely delaying their richly deserved demise. Anyway everyone's beloathed Palpatine knockoff is unfortunately super unflappable; another reason why they are boring as shit and why I very much want Bells Hells to make the bridge a little bit bloodier on the way up. 3/10.

Percival Friedrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III: Here's the thing. All things considered, his personal position is stressful, but not terrible. The ziggurat did not blow up; Gwen appears to either have not told him about her Delilah incident or did so in such a way that he didn't realize what was going on; he doesn't seem to have noticed the break-in into his parents' bedroom yet; Allura was reassuring re: Whitestone likely being safe (although...it's on a ley nexus so watch out!); and he got to deliver the line "ever since I met you, I knew you were destined for stupidity" which is actually how he specifically blows off steam. On the other hand, every single window in the castle has been destroyed, Allura had to leave, and I just checked and confirmed that Pike does not have the mending cantrip. Maybe one of the local clerics does? Maybe one of his kids does? Maybe Vilya or Ebenold does? Maybe Grog's in town and can be convinced that the role of the Grand Poobah etc etc is fixing windows? 6/10.

[ultraviolencced]

sad on main !

[nebylitsa]

Also, extremely important: what do you think of an AU where people from the WOTR are caught in the plot of 'Dracula'?

EXCELLENT QUESTION. honestly i see the words “wars of the roses au” and i instantly smash that like button. it could go one of two ways: the plot of dracula, but it takes place in the 15th century (which is plausible, seeing as the count is from an ambiguously medieval time period himself)

richard iii being like “hell yeah i can vibe with this dude”

henry vi feeling bad for dracula bc he doesnt want to hurt anyone, not even a vampire :’^(

dracula trying to make sense of the tangled mess of late medieval english dynastic politics (in the book he reads - among other things - train schedules, to improve his english and enhance his ability to blend in with victorian society; here he’d spend hours poring over genealogical tables, growing increasingly more frustrated because who the hell CARES who has the most royal blood flowing through their veins? its all blood anyway! precious, delicious blood...)

eleanor cobham and the woodvilles being accused not of witchcraft, but of colluding with vampires

cardinal beaufort becoming a vampire hunter by virtue of his religious vocation, stuffing the sleeves of his cassock full of consecrated hosts and extra large crucifixes

the princes in the tower disappear and of course its dracula’s doing. and then he adopts them because damn it, he may be an amoral vampire warlord but he cant stand to see these sweet, precocious children being used as pawns in a selfish political game

margaret of anjou and warwick each trying to cut a deal with dracula to get him to bite them and give them vampire superpowers, so he gladly bites them both

anne neville saying fuck this and going over to dracula’s side because are you tired of being nice? dont you just wanna go ape batshit??

or...

dracula with the standard 19th-century setting, but with a ragtag team of morally compromised megalomaniacs rather than a crew of light bound by the Power of Friendship

henry vi is an unassuming, soft-spoken solicitor and margaret of anjou is his badass educated New Woman wife. when henry goes to transylvania he immediately realizes his host is a vampire, but he just doesnt want to say anything because That Would Be Rude

margaret thinks vampires are cool (and respects dracula’s brides for exercising their Girl Power), but god damn it she’s the only one who gets to push henry around like that!

warwick is the shiftiest, least trustworthy van helsing ever. he isnt even all that invested in beating dracula and goes over to his side halfway through the story

the york brothers are the three suitors: edward is a dashing cowboy, george is a neurotic doctor addicted to drinking chloral, and richard seems like a quiet arthur holmwood type of guy, but deep down he’s kinda fucked up

anne neville is richard’s beloved fiancée who dies mysteriously and comes back as a horrific vampire, but richard’s like “jokes on you im into that shit”

in the 1931 dracula they partially merged renfield and jonathan together (mina has a husband in the movie, but his name is john and he has little to do with the jonathan in the book) so im gonna do the same thing here. henry has a nervous breakdown during his trip to transylvania and margaret finds him in a remote convent, in the grip of delirium and amnesia. sometimes hes completely unresponsive; at other times he raves about blood and eats bugs. after a stay at dr clarence’s asylum (which is admittedly not very humane by modern standards), henry slowly begins to recover enough to tell his story, though his mind is never truly the same again

thanks! <3

(feel free to add more ideas to this au - this is just what i could come up with but there are so many possibilities)

[toplesstaylor]

Oh baby, won’t you walk with me?

(roger taylor x oc ~ honey woodrow)

A/N: this is… sickeningly cute. But I love it, so… yeah, I don’t care! I suggest you listen to Cry To Me by Solomon Burke. I was kinda inspired by it. I got kind of stuck on part 3 so this as a peace offering? It happens a lot later in the story, but you can read it now too i think. anyways just read it I’m sure you won’t totally hate it.

Mini-Playlist: • Cry to Me - Solomon Burke • slow down - blur • ...baby one more time - the Marías (not britney) • Feeling good - Nina Simone • 19th nervous breakdown - the rolling Stones •

(Really random i know but also, v good music peeps)

Words: 1700 i think

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been going on like this for a few days now. Excuses ranging from I left my jacket here yesterday to I forgot to buy beer so now I’m stealing yours and even a very sneaky I maybe didn't pay rent so my power got shut off?. It was always pretty innocent, they’d usually just get afternoon wasted or watch tv at 3 am, but neither of them could just straight up admit the other wasn’t that bad. She was kind of funny, he wasn’t so arrogant as she thought, but conversation never went anywhere that had to do with emotions. That was one of those things both of them never really understood. Roger knew he had to say something about it, it was terribly confusing after all, but saying something was a whole lot harder than not saying anything at all, so the decision was made. Honey was just… difficult. to figure out, at least. Every time she made one of her famous remarks, he didn't know if he wanted to kiss her or punch her in the face. To put it nicely; it was goddamn horrible. At least he figured that being one second with her was better than being one second alone.

She had put on a Nina Simone record, dancing around the room with a strange grace for a drunken woman. She sang along beautifully, her voice was always a little lower than most, definitely lower than his, and it matched Simone’s well. But she completely butchered the last reach in feeling good, breaking down in laughter to the floor afterwards.

“You’re a lot more fun when you’re drunk, you know.” Roger snickered, and Honey scrawled her way towards the bed he was sitting on, whiskey bottle still in hand.

“No, I’m just more wild.” She laughed, downing more of the delicious golden liquid.

“You mean a psychopath.” He said, and grabbed the bottle from her cradling arms to try and get drunk himself, though trying maybe wasn’t the right word.

Chuckling, letting herself fall down on the bed. “I’m always a psycho, darling. I thought you knew that.” She stared up at the water-stained ceiling, feeling the alcohol buzz inside her veins. She loved that feeling, every nerve being completely fucked up.

He fell down next to her, trying to grab the bottle from her hands as she was holding it just out of reach.

She stood up, and put on an even older record, as the Nina one had died out. She smiled at it softly, like it was an old friend or something. He had never heard of it, i mean, not that one at least. He knew cry to me by the Rolling Stones, but this one, Solomon Burke, didn't sound familiar.

Honey started moving to the rhythm, dancing and prancing around the room with strangely practised ease. She mouthed along to the lyrics. It was slow, every movement of her hip was calculated , every little glance, grin and wink directed at him. She even moved to the bed, taking his hand and pulling him up to dance with her. He was way too sober for this, but she wasn’t, and he didn't want to disappoint, and who cares, she probably wouldn’t remember this tomorrow anyway. So he moved along, slowly, way too sloppy and carefully, but she laughed and smiled in way that wasn’t diabolical for once. It was beautiful, it made him smile too. She never did this, dancing around actually happily or just somewhat carefree.

But suddenly she stopped, looking at him with eyes he couldn’t read and lips far too attractive for him to resist. Both arms hanging next to her body, almost seeming like she didn’t know what to do with them. Almost uncertain.

‘You don't ever have walk alone, you see


Come take my hand, and baby,

won't you walk with me?’

She whispered along, Mister Burke’s smooth voice guiding her. She was searching his eyes, just a little bit too scared for such a drunk girl.

His eyes fluttered towards her lips, and back to her eyes to sort of ask for permission. And then he kissed her.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, to say the least.

Her hands tangled into his hair, and his found their way to her waist, they tumble down to the ground. He doesn't stop, doesn’t ask either, but neither does she.

“This is dumb.” She whispers, but fondly, there’s no regret in her voice, just heavy breathing.

“Yeah. Do you want to stop?” He asks, but he hopes she doesn’t.

“No.”

His lips find hers again, and then her jaw, her neck, even her collarbone gets a turn, and eventually, he finds his way to her stomach, still kissing every bit of skin he can find sloppily. It makes Honey giggle, not what he was going for, but it’s just such an honest sound he can’t help but giggle too. It’s probably the alcohol that’s flooded his mind, maybe the sudden realisation of ‘shit we just … did that and it wasn’t weird at all, what the hell is going on.’ that’s polluting their senses with impulses to just laugh, though neither of them really mind. he just listens to her laugh with his head pressed into her stomach, it's a funny sound, as she’s still sort of on the floor and there’s a slope and all. he doesn’t want to get up, he’s far too comfortable now, but honey’s pushing him away to reach for the bottle and he pouts at her, so to make up for it she gives him the bottle first.

The whole situation may be strange, it doesn’t change much over the evening, they go from making out to dancing and making bad jokes and more drinking, it’s all just a way to pass time, they tell themselves, but Roger’s not sure. Not that he can be sure of anything right now, the moment he tries to stand up he practically falls right back down from the drunken dizziness, but still. He knows her, he thinks, he knows himself at least, and even though he does know tomorrow probably everything will change, he’s still a fool to hope it won't. Or maybe he does. It’s all so unclear, his mind’s fuzzy and yet he’s trying to look through it anyway.

Honey doesn’t seem to care about anything, or maybe she does, though she might be too far gone into her afternoon drunkenness for that now. She just lies on the floor, the same floor he just kissed her on, smoking a cigarette and staring into the watermarks on the ceiling like Brian stares into his telescope, while her thoughts swirl along with the smoke into the sky. He can’t imagine what’s she’s seeing, it must be out of this world, the grin on her face reveals nothing and shows everything. Maybe about space, she’s just like space. space, that thing brian was obsessed with. She's like a star, like a sun. He thought she was a moon but the moon wasn’t mysterious anymore. The sun is much more like her, what do we even know about the sun? She’s fiery, dangerous. She shines light on things that should be left in the dark. She shines and makes people happy but she brings death and drought when she wants. Honey’s exactly like the sun. He had a million names for her, sunny, fallen angel, bee, but he didn’t know her real name, and he probably wouldn’t ever. He debated if he was drunk, he felt much more high, his mind was spiralling into places he didn’t know existed, feelings and senses and things he’s never felt or sensed or seen before. And all that just because he kissed a girl.

He couldn’t wait to do it again.

[melissatreglia]

Darkiplier in 2017: An In-Depth Look (Part 4)

(Memory a little rusty? Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 before going forward.)

"Well, I've got a news flash for you, brain trust. That's not how it works. You die, and a demon sets up shop in your old house, and it walks, and it talks, and it remembers your life... but it's not you."

- Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (2x07: "Lie to Me")

So, here it is: the long-awaited final installment of my Darkiplier in 2017 essay.

Remember when I said anything could happen for the remainder of 2017? Well, it basically did. The final quarter of the year brought with it an explosive finale... that is to say, a fascinating origin story.

But we'll get to that in a moment.

Prior to the events of October and following in the wake of the Darkiplier vs. Antisepticeye vid, we were given quite a few bits, bobs and teasers of the horror to come.

In the second Try Not to Smile Challenge, our favourite Youtuber remarked that "I've turned my heart into a stone-cold ice cube of death. All joy has been purged from me in every way possible, and I have no smiles left for anybody." Then he added, with his usual sardonic humour, "It's #smilenever up in this bitch." He promptly spent the remainder of the video looking like he was in agonizing pain from the human experiences he was observing (and intermittently groaning and growling from his frustrated attempts at self-restraint).

A deceptively simple game titled V appeared on Mark's channel in September, and included a seizure warning as a result of its visual style... a style reminiscent of Dark's attention-grabbing, almost painful aura. Chook and Sosig: A Case of Murder is a quirky little diversion that follows a ghost chicken and a noodly-limbed cat as they solve the mysterious death of a popular entertainer (a writer, in this case). Another strange little vid, this time an animation of Mark's Firewatch playthrough, was also released. Though the dialogue is actually taken from a game that had been played a year prior, Forrest Byrnes' lines about death lying in wait and being unable to leave are also oddly fitting.

The artistic black-and-white game I woke up next to you again. contained themes that, upon reflection, are consistent with the overall narrative of Darkiplier's character. Its story is of an attractive, enigmatic stranger (whose appearance is occasionally marred by a subtle glitch effect) seduces you, slowly drains you of your life and ambitions, until you are left an obsessive and hollow husk of yourself. Interpretations vary on what the story of "I woke up..."  means (including that it might be a metaphor for drug addiction), but the real meaning is left intentionally vague by the programmer. The being your character is faced with might very well be a soul-devouring demon, for all one knows... especially given that the "girl" in question doesn't appear in the picture you show of her to a friend.

Following the events in early October, Mark joked during his play-through of The Evil Within 2 that the force-feeding mother was "speaking in multiple voices... a clear sign that that might be Darkiplier over there. I think she turned grey when the lighting changed..." (a clear reference to the insanity the fandom was gripped by earlier in the month). In a later episode, Mark eyeballs the rather dapper villain Stefano bathed in dim, moody lighting and quips, "Friggin' Darkiplier up in here."

The rather silly nyoom vid, created to promote Mark's new merch line of holographic M shirts, features the same distorted RGB effect we've become familiar with in Dark's appearances... although this time, it's all a bit of harmless fun with Chica set to a dubstep soundtrack. In Constellation, Mark jokes to "run away!" from the 3D effect the game offers, before conjuring what he dubs a "Darkiplier teapot".

During the Emily Wants To Play Too livestream, Mark comments that the "Let Her In :)" note left on the dry erase board is "some Darkiplier-level shit," adding that everyone now knows what happened with Damien and Celine, and later jokes that the tall stranger looks "dapper... in his suit... y'know that guy's lookin' a little grey. His skin turns grey; I think it's Darkiplier." He's unable to contain his mirth, however, and giggles a bit as he talks.

The vid ...Bonbon Loves You... offers an unsettling description of its events, where the bunny-shaped demonic imaginary friend provides his constant companionship... for a price. "You can never escape! You'll never need to escape! YOU'LL ALWAYS HAVE A FRIEND FOREVER!!" Prison Island likewise has a chilling description of its own, of a mystery that's been covered up and that "something terrible has been going on in the shadows and it's come back to haunt you..." The title for the vid of the game Deathlike Awakening also warns us "Don't move... don't breathe..."

There was also the short song “The Man With No Shadow”, a brief acoustic piece which had strange and surreal lyrics in honour of the solar eclipse.

My personal favourite of these teasers, however, has to be the easter egg contained in the finale of Mark's Popgoes play-through. Mark appears distracted as he hears a disturbance in his IRL vicinity, and he removes his headphones to stare out to his left (presumably where the door is). A voice that sounds similar to Wilford Warfstache declares offscreen, "Don't you worry!" Another voice, sounding suspiciously like Darkiplier Himself sneers in a somewhat muted rejoinder, "I'll get you." Mark stands motionless as the webcam view briefly warps, before the recording continues as if absolutely nothing happened.

But of course, this all pales in comparison to Who Killed Markiplier?, the four-part miniseries Mark created on a limited budget that's arguably his magnum opus. There's a reason it took me more than a year to write this part of the essay, and this taut 43-minute film is the reason why. It made me love characters I'd never met before, and even though I had a sickening feeling in my stomach as to their fates. Even knowing the monster Damien would become, and how broken William's psyche would be... I was still woefully unprepared for the onslaught of emotion I felt by the finale.

WKM has been analysed from every angle by the fandom at large, so I'm going to focus on providing a brief recap here.

We, as the viewpoint character of the District Attorney, are invited to Markiplier Manor for poker night. We're greeted by the Colonel and hand our invitation over to the Butler, before having a brief conversation with Damien, the newly-elected mayor. The chef warns us to stay out of his kitchen as the butler offers us a drink. Markiplier (well, this universe's version of him, anyway) descends the staircase and the night of drunken revelry begins.

The following morning, we're offered a seltzer with cocaine as a hangover aid by the butler (cocaine was a fairly common ingredient in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including in children's cough medicine), and Damien greets us. We wander aimlessly around the house, and are startled by the falling body of the newly deceased Markiplier. The detective, who'd also been invited the night before, proceeds to question the party-goers and examine the body. The mayor enters the scene and, showing his capabilities as a calming influence, asks for any information that can be gleaned. Damien then exits, ostensibly to talk to the Colonel, and clearly more disturbed by the events than he's previously let on.

The DA is drafted in as the detective's partner, and we overhear an argument between the Mayor and the Colonel. Damien angrily storms out, and we take the opportunity to discuss the matter with the Colonel. He promptly tells us a story about what he thinks happened, laying it on rather thick in the process and leaving no question as to his hostility towards their deceased host.  

The Butler leads us down into the wine cellar, before having a nervous breakdown about a broken bottle in the middle of the otherwise pristine floor. We go back up the stairs an are confronted by the Chef who, after some tough talk, offers some recorded (FNAF-style) footage of Markiplier and the Detective discussing the house's employees some nights prior. We then exit the house, and talk to Damien some more about his confrontation with the Colonel. Damien feels lost amid these events at the moment and has retreated to ponder matters for himself. We're soon called back in by the Detective to discover that Mark's body has now vanished.

The cast of characters reconvene in the room where the body was to discuss this turn of events, and the Colonel points out that there's a "storm" coming. The Butler and the Chef resolve to lock the building down, with no one getting in or out, until the matter is resolved. The Detective takes us up, down and around the inside of the house until we eventually get to the master bedroom.

The bedroom is a mess, but we find three pictures of Mark, Damien, the Colonel... and Mark's ex-wife, Celine. The Colonel talks with us about his relationship with Damien (which is more positive than his relationship with Mark). Damien briefly pops in looking for the Colonel, but just misses him... twice. Damien then pulls us aside, saying that he'd "stake [his] life" on the Colonel's innocence, and that he suspects that there's  another "guest" in the house no one knows about.

There's a sudden round of gunfire, and we rush in with Damien to find that the Detective and the Colonel are at a standoff. Then Celine barges in.

Everyone quickly catches her up on the events that have occurred thus far, and Celine points out that the lightning strikes indicate something supernatural is afoot. Celine proposes a séance to talk with the deceased Mark. After Damien reaches out in concern for her dabbling in witchcraft and she rebuffs him, Celine takes us with her to a quieter room where she reads the tarot and reveals that there are "dark forces" at work inside the manor. Her magickal influence enables us to go through time, seeing alternate events and getting a hint of what's to come.

But the answers we find aren't enough to satisfy her, and she grows angry with us, demanding that we "go back" into our visions. Damien and the Detective interrupt, with Damien putting a stop to the séance and the Detective dragging us away as Damien and Celine argue. The Detective shows the picture we've drawn to the Butler and the Chef, and it's revealed that the Groundskeeper (who hasn't set foot inside the house in over a decade) might know something.

Damien goes with Celine back into the séance room, while the Butler goes to find the Colonel. We, the Detective and the Chef go to talk to the Groundskeeper. The Groundskeeper resolves not to go in the house unless there's one specific "incident, one manifestation" that comes to pass.

There's a flash of light and the sound of thunder, and everyone rushes back into the house to reveal that Damien is gone and Celine is now possessed by a demon... the demon who's been lurking in the house the entire time, and who's aura is a familiar red and blue hue.

Most of the group decides to exit the house while they still can, with the exceptions of the Detective, the Colonel and the DA (ie. us). The Detective and the Colonel vanish and we're pulled into a darker, shadow version of the house that seems frozen in time and is echoing with the voices of those who fled. The demon of the house releases us from its grip, and we stumble upon the Detective's study... replete with the papers and evidence we weren't privy to before. The Colonel happens upon us in the study and becomes furious, thinking the Detective framed he and his friends.

The two are in a standoff once again, before the Colonel's gun goes off twice... purely by accident. One shot hits Abe. The other hits the DA (us) and we fall over the banister and crash to the floor.

In the space between life and death, we see the images of Damien and Celine. She's glowing red, and he's a soft blue. "Damien" is angry and lost, blaming Mark for what happened. "Celine" concurs, also blaming Mark for the events that transpired... and together they hatch a plan to release themselves from the void and back into the world. (All the while, a deep and demonic voice mockingly echoes their words, as if they are mere puppets.)

Damien then says these fateful words:

"Honestly, I don't know what the fuck is going on. But I know that I trust Celine. And if you trust us... just let me in. We can fix this. Together."

Celine then adds:

"I won't force this on you. You have a choice here. Just know this is the only way that you can escape."

And because we, the DA, have no real choice in the matter (as if death is a choice!), we agree. The images of Damien and Celine recede as we're driven back to our body. We get up, confused and disoriented with the daylight streaming in, and find the Colonel holding onto Damien's cane like a security blanket during a vigil near our body. And we watch, with growing horror and sadness, as the Colonel's mental state deteriorates. He hobbles away, calling out to the friends who will not and cannot answer him, leaving Damien's cane behind.

We reach out to the cane, with a small feminine hand which changes form into a man's larger hand. Our perspective tilts and it appears to be Damien in the mirror, looking bedraggled and exhausted as he contemplates his cane. He cracks his (broken from the fall) neck and we're thrown into the mirror, it cracking with the force and he storms away, leaving us behind without looking back.

Damien, if that was indeed him at all, is not the man we knew. Not anymore. He's long gone. What remains is made of demonic energy and rage; the demon of the house won. That being is now the one we call Darkiplier.

To lighten the lugubrious mood of the mini-series, Mark simultaneously released four "Jim News" shorts, featuring the Jims wandering through the house in an attempt at investigative reporting (ie. Mark goofing off on set, between takes). The legit bop that is "Fly Like a Butterfly" is another form of relief, that features in its music video scenes from Markiplier Manor and, of course, the handsome as always Darkiplier adorned with massive butterfly wings.

Hints at the expanded universe were also laid during Mark's play-throughs of Doki Doki Literature Club, specifically in the descriptions, which featured poetry based on the lives of the characters in Who Killed Markiplier?. Part 1 features a poem of Wilford Warfstache (hinting at his transformation from the Colonel), the District Attorney in Part 2, the alternate Markiplier in Parts 3 through 5... and what may be the Detective in Part 6 (though Monika's trapping the player in her world and the thumbnail of Sayori with a cracked/broken neck are both reminiscent of Darkiplier).

Likewise, Mark in the description of Party Hard Tycoon hopes to "party hard and hope no murderers show up!" In The Silent House, he says "this house is nothing but pain and suffering and also it can't talk..." The setting of The Sexy Brutale involves time travel to stop a murder at a gathering in a luxurious home. Sleeping Dawn's thumbnail is a dead body with a toe tag of "Y/N" (the typical reader insert fic's notation to insert your name, and the same notation provided on the invitation for the DA).

Markiplier also jokes that the channel isn't real and about being a paid actor during the 7th episode of his Slime Rancher Let's Play. In the otherwise adorable platform game I may die!, he plays a character whose house is surrounded by an empty void... that he promptly falls into.

Arguably however, the linchpin among the latter portion of the year’s hints is the HD Renovation of Spooky's Jumpscare Mansion, where a familiar resonant and echoing voice narrates:

"For as long as you can remember, legends have been told about the derelict mansion upon the hill that casts a blanket of darkness over the town. The history of the house itself is virtually unknown, and even the town’s oldest residents cannot remember the mansion’s origin. Being an avid history enthusiast, you embark up the mountain to visit the manor. Hoping to shed some light on the backstory of this crumbling fortress of darkness."

Sounds familiar, in more ways than one, doesn’t it?

But it doesn't even end there.

Only a few short weeks after the release of the final chapter of Who Killed Markiplier?, Mark released his Van Vlogs. One of these, the World's First Pop-Up Haunted House vlog, hinted that there was something more going on in the beginning, with some ominous music and the static on the van's TV growing louder. What was hinted at finally came to fruition in November. Another van video was released, titled Don't remember. In it, the viewer character has dozed off in the empty van and is woken in the dead of night.

A deep voice faintly says "Do you remember? I said we were going to do great things together. Go back to sleep."

Of course, it was Damien who had hoped that the prospect of working with the DA (the viewer character from Who Killed Markiplier?) would mean great things for the city he was elected to represent. In DoomVR, Mark finds himself trapped between life and death, before reviving and going forth to battle demons. Something which, in light of the events of WKM, doesn't seem too far-fetched now. Additionally, the ending to Part 5 of FNAF's Pizzeria Simulator spells out the words "S-A-V-E H-I-M". In light of possibilities yet to come, it could mean we have to try to save Damien himself.

But that is, as they say, a story for another time.

The description of the finale for Unforgiving: A Northern Hymn asks "Is it the end we really want? Is there a way to prevent the inevitable?" The ending, of course, is a leap of faith followed by the disappointing reality of having been deceived by a demonic trickster, and forced to live through the same events over and over again. It is a revelation reminiscent of the muddled timeline throughout the origin stories of Wilford Warfstache and Darkiplier, two characters who were born years before on the channel, but whose origins did not come to light until the events of Who Killed Markiplier?.

But, I believe, Mark saved the best for last with two sadly coincidental questions on the light-hearted game Would You Rather?. Two days before the end of the year episode 11 of this game was released and, among the game's queries, two particularly heart-wrenching questions were asked.

The first was "Would you rather lose your mind or lose your significant other?" Many have pointed out that both happened to Wilford Warfstache, having lost his mind in the wake of the bloodbath of Who Killed Markiplier? along with his beloved Celine becoming merged with Damien and the demonic entity to become Darkiplier. Mark answers, after weighing the cost of both options, that he’d rather lose his mind than someone he loves.

The second, which he leaves for us, is "Would you rather be stalked by a ghost for the rest of your life, or be stalked by a demon for three days then die?" Of course, the latter actually happened in Who Killed Markiplier?. After the first three episodes, released from October 10th to the 12th, our character (the DA) was shot and fell from a banister on Friday the 13th.

Like in Who Killed Markiplier? itself, we’re left with a question that’s difficult to answer. The biggest of the all the questions anyone can conceive being simply this:

So, what happens now?

[bbbrianjones]

hii i’m trying to get more into the stones, and i don’t remember how i taught myself queen and the beatles so i was wondering if you could teach me the basics you know. you can ignore this lmao i’m just stupid. ily💕🥺

of course, i will not ignore this! it’s me! what do you expect? you’re not stupid and ily2! anyway, i will admit, i don’t know much post-brian (which was 1969) so if you wanna know anything about that, i’m not the person to come to however i will try my best!

i guess i could give you some song recommendations if you wanna start out; here are some songs (without brian) that are very well known if you wanna start somewhere just by clicking on the sunflowers!! the ones highlighted are my favourites! 

gimme shelter  🌻

wild horses 🌻

can’t you hear me knocking  🌻

you can’t always get what you want 🌻

tumbling dice 🌻

angie 🌻

start me up 🌻

beast of burden 🌻

honky tonk woman 🌻

brown sugar 🌻

here are some of their more well-known songs (with brian)

paint it black 🌻

sympathy for the devil 🌻

(i can’t get no) satisfaction  🌻

let’s spend the night together 🌻

ruby tuesday (oof!) 🌻

she’s a rainbow 🌻

19th nervous breakdown 🌻

jumpin jack flash 🌻

 i wanna be your man 🌻

not fade away 🌻

and here are some of my personal favourites which i think you should listen to;

lady jane 🌻

under my thumb 🌻

the last time 🌻

no expectations 🌻

we love you 🌻

walking the dog 🌻

get off my cloud 🌻

dandelion 🌻

i am waiting 🌻

something happened to me yesterday🌻

mother’s little helper 🌻

2000 light years from home (or really any song from the ”their satanic majesties request” album, it’s amazing) 🌻

and i mean who could forget the kellogg’s rice crispies jingle brian wrote?

[3laxx]

Wintery Warm Drabbles - 19th “Pretend to be GF“

Hold your horses, guys, this is Part 1 ;) The next prompt will still be all about that!

Ao3 / FF.net

Adrien nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another while standing in front of the building with the ballroom that his father had rented for the big Christmas party the Agreste family always held.

It was disgustingly formal and stuck up and Adrien wanted to be everywhere else but there. Well, at least Chloé was out of town so he didn’t have to go with her.

What he hadn’t foreseen, though, was that his father had come to him with a question.

Who would be his partner for the ball?

First, he had thought of Nino but his father had politely declined, still leaving it open for Adrien to choose without considering a gender but forbidding him to bring this boy. Adrien knew Nino’s name was still on Gabriel Agreste’s blacklist so he wasn’t allowed to bring him.

Alya had almost been his next guess when he had remembered Marinette. She was an aspiring designer so she would surely be overjoyed to be around some of the most famous designers of Europe, right?

He had asked her right away and well, she had happily taken the offer.

The only thing he had failed to tell her in the heat of his joy was that-… Well… It was supposed to be a date. Or, well, a date to the outside.

Not, uh, not for them, right? She just had to pretend, right?

A little nagging feeling built up inside him but he ignored it as his phone chimed up. He pulled it out, recognizing the caller as Nino.

“Uhm, hi Nino?”

“ARE YOU COMPLETELY CRAZY, MAN?!”, the voice on the other end shouted and Adrien recoiled, holding the phone away. This voice unmistakably belonged to Alya.

“Uhm… No, thanks… What’s up?”

“Marinette just left!”, Alya now angered around in a slightly lower voice, still loud but at least so that Adrien could hold his phone like a normal person again.

“Uh-… That’s good, right?”

Alya downright exploded so as Adrien dared to take the phone to his ear again he heard Nino speaking.

“Dude, you still there?”

“Uhm, yes. What’s up?”

Nino sighed, his girlfriend audibly stomping around rambling angrily in the background.

“Alya, relax… So, uh, you invited Marinette to this big ass fancy party this evening?”

“Yeah?”

“Well…”, Nino began, “Problem is, you asked her just this morning, Adrien. She kinda freaked out over the whole day and Alya freaked out with her and she’s wearing an original design and stuff… Anyways. All I wanna say is that I’ll have to kill you with best regards from Alya if you don’t take care of her.”

“I will! I will take care of her!”, Adrien insisted but Nino sighed again.

“No, dude, like… She’ll be in a room with a lot of persons she looks up to and Marinette is kinda a person to have no chill when it comes to situation like these. Please take care that she won’t, uhm, y’know… Go crazy.”

Adrien chuckled, knowing Marinette’s antics.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good…”, Alya had calmed down a bit, probably to listen, “And, uhm, dude? Have you told her about, uh, the thing?”

“What thing?”, Alya asked. Nino silently explained it to her, somehow successfully keeping her from freaking out again.

Adrien stiffened and looked down the street, gulping.

“Dude. Adrien. Tell me you-”

“… Didn’t?”

“THAT’S IT!!”, Alya yelled. She apparently took the phone again because suddenly, her voice was very close, “Agreste, if there’s one, and I repeat, ONE message from Mari that I might understand wrongly, you are dead. And if there is one Marinette crying in my arms this night, then you aren’t just dead but also castrated, neutered, skinned, burned, buried alive and tarred and feathered and most of all DEAD, do I make myself clear?”

Adrien gulped harder, actually leaning away from his phone.

“Uhm-… Y-Yeah, o-of course, Alya…”

“Am I scaring you?”, her voice was suddenly sweet and caring and he was even more afraid of that than before.

“Y-Yes?”

“GOOD!”, she hissed, the old bite apparent again, and he was sure he had never been so close to peeing himself in public. He swallowed, listening as Nino took over again.

“Yeah, I’ll try to calm her a bit, just-”

“DON’T YOU DARE, LAHIFFE!”

Adrien nodded.

“I’ll take care of her. There’s no calming and furious Alya Césaire when it’s about Marinette, got it.”

“One Alya Césaire, don’t forget that.”, Nino chuckled and it was the last thing he did.

“ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF M-”

The call was abruptly ended and Adrien was left alone with tingling ears, blinking once, twice, before straightening up again. He just hoped he would see Nino alive sometime again.

As he looked down the street and saw a car nearing he didn’t know yet how little Nino’s life would matter to him in just a few seconds. The car pulled over and he could make out Marinette’s father and her as the lights flashed on. They talked for a bit, then Marinette opened the door and stepped out. Adrien jumped to her side to help her out, startling her with that but after the first moment of shock she took his hand, standing up from her seat.

“H-Hi Marinette!”, he stuttered, his gaze involuntarily flickering up and down her body.

She was gorgeous.

When Alya had said that she would be wearing an original design he had been excited. But seeing her like this, her slender but somehow muscular body so wonderfully cupped by the amazing dress. Her hair done in a braid that led from her forehead to the back of her head, out of her signature pigtails. Her make up shining in the street lamp, applied to keep her natural beauty and just let her significant traits stand out a little more. Her bluebell eyes sparkled and her lips were so rosy he had to swallow.

Ever since he had joined her shopping as Chat Noir he had found his thoughts wandering off to her more and more often. Now seeing the wonderful dress on her that had the same color as her hair, maybe a bit more on the violet side, seeing her curves catching his attention because of the genius design of the dress, seeing how beautiful she let herself be, he found himself losing his mind.

Ladybug was long forgotten.

In a daze he barely remembered that they were still standing on the wintery sidewalk but the small snowflakes dancing over her eyelashes and midnight blue hair were hypnotizing. Her eyes were like lamps to a moth for him. He couldn’t turn away.

It wasn’t the dress that made her so truly beautiful. It wasn’t that she wore more radiant make up than usual and it certainly wasn’t that she had dressed up like that. The true beauty was her excitement, her genuine joy. The true shine that captured him was how beautiful she had allowed herself to be.

Marinette giggled, which ripped him out of his trance, and turned to her father. Tom leant over, winking at Adrien.

“You take care of my daughter, son!”

Adrien began grinning at the familiar nickname Tom had given him as his visits had become more frequent since Alya, Nino, Marinette and him had become better friends. He nodded, just barely able to look away from the beauty that was in front of him.

“Of course, Monsieur Dupain. Have a nice evening!”

“Same to you, kids!”, he replied before driving off, leaving the two teens standing on the sidewalk.

“You-… You look beautiful, Marinette…”, he finally choked out, feeling awkward and clumsy next to her. She giggled and blushed, making his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, Adrien. You look quite handsome, too.”

He briefly wondered where this slight dimmed light in her eyes came from, of the lack of her stutters, but he figured she just felt confident in the dress.

“U-Uh, thanks!”

Only now he noticed how close they stood to each other, her feet already between his and her chin almost brushing over his chest when she spoke. He only noticed because he now felt her shivering.

“Uhm, let’s go inside! You must be cold. The, uh, the party will officially begin in ten minutes and, uh-…”

They entered the building, Marinette on his arm and her shivering stopping as they stepped into the warm foyer. He grew more and more nervous as they continued down the hall, towards the ballroom. He had to tell her.

So he stopped gently, turning towards her before his father could see them. “Uhm, Marinette, there’s actually something, uhm-…”

“Adrien, are you alright?”, she asked, sweet and caring as ever. He tried a smile.

“Yeah, of course! It’s just that, well, this here-… This isn’t just an invite to you, Marinette…”

Her eyes sparkled again and she downright looked ashamed as she spoke up, flustered and now finally stuttering.

“O-Oh, yeah that’s right! It’s such a b-big opportunity, Adrien, I didn’t even thank you! I just, ugh, I’m so sorry for my rudeness, I really-”

“No, no…”, he chuckled, “It’s an honor to me that you’re here today. It’s just that, well… My father kinda-… Made me invite someone. As, uh-… As my date.”

Her face was stable for a surprisingly long time. But she also didn’t react for a concerningly long time. Adrien already swallowed, ready to catch her or apologize for everything he had ever done. Or, well, to say goodbye to his life.

“… A date.”, she finally repeated, “Your date.”

He nodded awkwardly, his hand flying to the back of his head.

“Uhm, yeah, well, my father and-… Well, it’s just to pretend because, well, some designers are a little difficult and-… Uhm-… You just gotta pretend and we don’t have to kiss and nothing, we just have to hang out together and maybe dance and, uh, well, that’s all, promise!”

She slowly nodded, her head seemingly working at light speed. Little did he know how close she was to a full fledged nervous breakdown right now.

She had just adjusted to stepping her being in love down, she had just begun accepting he liked someone else. She had just psyched herself up together with Alya to be suave and cool and totally just a friend. To have a cool evening with a cool guy who was a friend, nothing more.

She still freaked out over all the renowned designers she would meet and yes, she was nervous. But this was no comparison, in no way, to the nervousness that built up within her now.

Pretending to be Adrien’s date.

There was something about that that she simply couldn’t grasp. And she felt herself slipping.

Pretending to be his date. Just pretending and, well, pretending to hang on his arm, pretend that kissing him occasionally was normal between them even if they wouldn’t do it today, pretending that they were in a relationship, were probably fooling around, hanging out in their free time, knowing personal things about each other. Pretending to be more than just a friend.

Yep, she was freaking out. On the inside. Just on the inside.

“Oh, uh-… Of course?”, she squeaked, watching as the tension left from Adrien’s shoulders.

Help, she thought.

“Oh man, I’m so glad Marinette! We don’t have to do more than just stay together, that’s all. And hey, this is gonna be fun, right? Just you, me, a few old and stuck up people that we say hello to and a few really cool younger people that we can talk to and the evening’s over faster than we can imagine.”

She managed a nod and even a slight smile.

“Oh, uhm, yes of course! Exciting, fun and, uhm-… Pretending to be a-… Uh, couple?”

He nodded, now an uncertain expression snuck over his face.

“A-Are you gonna be okay with that? We can also tell everyone you’re a friend and my real partner couldn’t make it or-… Well, some stuff like that?”

She quickly shook her head, now completely accepting that she had absolutely zero chance with him.

“Nah, it’s fine, really. Let’s, uhm, pretend we’re a couple and forget it tomorrow?”

She narrowly missed the sad shadow in his smile as he nodded.

“Yeah, of course. Friends, right?”

“Friends.”, she agreed, hooking her arm into his again.

[blueanddeepblue]

The trail starts out wide. A road really. Big enough for both of us to walk side by side. —– The night before, Alexis and I camp at Deep Creek, packed in among families with their mountain bikes and barbecue grills and behemoth tents and their hammocks stacked three-high celebrating Labor Day. We haul out our packs and shift gear around on the picnic table in the dark: sleeping pads and bags, camp stove and pots, emergency first aid kits, camel baks, rope, binoculars. Noted chronicler of Appalachian customs, Horace Kephart, says that “to equip a pedestrian with shelter, bedding, utensils, food, and other necessities, in a pack so light and small that he can carry it without overstrain, is really a fine art.” As connoisseurs of fine art and as people unaccustomed to camping in bear country, Alexis and I sit there looking at the bear canister wondering how to fit a week’s food supply into its small, plastic body. Canister is a deceiving term; it’s more a barrel-shaped lunchbox, smaller than those igloo contraptions your dad took to work throughout your childhood. But by the evening’s end, after all the arrangements, our packs seem lighter and emptier than they should, maybe because we’re not hiking in the desert and we don’t have to carry our water supply. We sleep, hoping that we are pedestrians soundly equipped. After morning coffee, we drive up from Bryson City with fog and mist blanketing the Great Smoky Mountains and shrouding the beginning of the hike in mystery, like a gift waiting to be opened -Alexis and I giddy children. —– The trail starts out wide. A road along a stream. We walk side by side. There is a newness, an excitement. It’s been months since I’ve seen her. But there is also a simple familiarity. We descend a short ways before starting a gradual two day climb towards Clingman’s Dome, the highest point in Tennessee, followed by another three days alongside Forney Creek. Alongside us Noland Creek drops pleasantly over boulders covered with moss and lichen, a background noise that a Texas boy like myself equates more to a waterfall than a creek, as most of the creeks I knew growing up were seasonal at best. It’s late summer in the Smokies and Noland roars softly, like a highway in the distance. We reacquaint ourselves to the rhythm of conversation, to a cadence particular to those who share intimacy. We fall into step. We adjust our packs at the shoulders, on the hips, at the chest, and try to ease out the kinks in our knees, on the lower back, near the nape of the neck. Some conversations are like a collision of atoms. I think that’s what drew me to Alexis in the first place, the way conversation would bounce between topics and stories and big ideas, whirling and spinning closer and closer to answers or revelations, the way talking with her would make my skin feel alive. It’s like that again. And the trail is wide. A road really. We walk side by side and point out the fungi here, a red flower over there, the way the light hits the water through a gap in the trees, the way the rocks make the stream look like blown glass. We hurl atoms step by step. —– Horace Kephart has sad, deep eyes, like a bloodhound, and (at least in most of the pictures that remain of him) a thick mustache. He is thin and wiry, the embodiment of an outdoorsman at the turn of the 19th century, replete with the independent spirit that only a checkered bandana, a short brimmed mountain hat, and a wooden pipe can instill. I first ran into Kephart when reading John Graves’ Goodbye to a River, a wonderfully meandering account of a canoe trip down the Brazos and one of the finest pieces of nature writing that Texas can claim. Graves simply calls him “Ol Kep”. Kephart, a man of dual lives, is probably best remembered for his writings about camping and for advocacy efforts to create what is now known as Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Camping and Woodcraft (1906) is still considered by many as the encyclopedia on outdoor excursions; if you’ve ever wondered about how well certain woods burn, Ol Kep provides a hierarchy for the burn-ability of soft-woods and hard-woods in relation to dryness; if you’ve ever pondered the difference between types of tent canvas, he’ll let you know when to use duck, sea island, or egyptian cotton - he’ll also let you know their respective weights; if you’ve ever debated how to cook possum, he’s got an opinion on that too. Buried within arcane and detailed observations of outdoor living, Kephart also embeds gems of wisdom, truths about the human condition which are still relevant today. —– Along Noland Creek the sun breaks through the trees in rays and makes the leaves glow electric and yellow among the green. We lay out on the rocks in the middle of the stream like lizards soaking it up. We hammock in the afternoon and gather firewood for the evening. Later we eat ramen, and later still we fall asleep to the sound of water rounding out the edges of stone, softening the corners and turning millions of tiny, round rocks into even smaller grains of sand, carrying them to the oceans and blowing them into the deserts across the world. —– Prior to becoming an expert on wilderness places and peoples, Ol Kep was mostly a bookworm. After being the librarian at Cornell, Kephart moved to Italy to purchase and catalog books for a wealthy collector. Somewhere along the way he met and fell in love with a woman from New York and exchanged letters with her. Eventually he moved back to the states, married Laura Mack, had six children with her, became the head librarian at both Yale and in Saint Louis, made advances in classification and library organization, published articles in a myriad of magazines, and had a nervous breakdown. It was the nervous breakdown that led him to western North Carolina, “looking for a big primitive forest where [he] could build up strength anew and indulge [his] lifelong fondness for hunting, fishing and exploring new ground.” Sometimes escape comes at a price, though. He’d never see his wife or children again. But he would know the woods. And he’d know the bottom of a moonshine bottle, which may be what drove him to the woods anyways; it’s hard to predict which way the wind will blow a man, or what path he’ll walk down to find a bit of solace. —– Day two is the longest and hardest of our hike. After climbing to the lookout tower at Clingman’s dome to peer into a fog that covers the 360 view, we start the three and a half miles down to our campsite. The trail grows narrower and rockier as we descend, rock-scree rolling beneath our feet. Darkness falls fast, and clouds darken. We pull out our tarps as the rain falls, at first a gentle pattering, soon a thunderous downpour. We give up on dry shoes and yell out plans for setting up camp in the rain. At our campsite, plans become obsolete. Dinner is abandoned. We try to keep things dry as best as possible, then settle into our tent and wait till morning. We have fifteen hours to go. Grey in the tent slowly becomes black, like a world where color has been drained by an unseen hand turning down a dial, like a plug being pulled in a tub of murky water. —– When Alexis and I met, both of us were going through divorces. Conversation erupted. We talked about relationships and what happened with them when they fell apart. We talked about what it was like to see the person you married and feel like they were a stranger. About how suddenly you feel adrift in something that used to seem so good. She hopped on the back of my motorcycle and we’d go swim or get BBQ. There were things I could share that I couldn’t with anyone else, things that people who aren’t looking at the inside of a crumbling marriage can’t possibly understand and don’t usually want to talk about anyways. It’d be like trying to hang out with a bunch of Red Sox fans and strike up conversations about the Yankee’s bullpen - they’d have opinions and know a lot about baseball, but they’re primarily rooting for the other team. Nobody wants to see a marriage fail, so when it does, it’s hard to find people who want to hear you belabor the finer points of love’s dissolution. Not that my friends aren’t wonderful, they truly are. But I’d already been through several separations with Sarah, already had some of those conversations. But with Alexis, it was more than that. It was intimacy. Not a physical one, nor like the head-over-heels love of the movies. It was the discovery of a shared experience. It was finding someone who was walking through the same thing as you, and who could help you see that it would be okay. It wasn’t always pretty. She was there for long walks with me when the anxiety set in, when I felt my heart rising in my chest, trying to strangle me from within. I was there for her when she couldn’t find the strength to eat, when food seemed strange and alien. There were tears sometimes. There were questions that had no answers: How come you can love someone and then not love them? Is love even supposed to last forever? Who are we anyways and why are we here? Questions that I imagine are a far cry from most first dates, the usual lists of hobbies and favorite movies and where one went to school. But questions that helped me know it was alright. That helped me see the world was still a wonder waiting to be unfurled. That the world would always be a wonder, and that it mattered not if the questions had answers, but only that we asked them. It was also magic. We climbed a hill at my friend’s ranch, a 12 pack of Lone Star in tow, and watched the Persied rain down meteors. We danced in the honky-tonks because sleep wouldn’t come. We walked the streets and felt the lightning in our teeth, in our bones, and we looked for that same light in the hills and the the stars and the flowers and in the water as clear as glass. We jumped in and swam with reckless abandon because it felt good to be alive again. We woke again every day to the newness of it all. And soon, we found that the water was all around us, that wonder had encircled us like a secret cocoon, like a blanket on a winter’s day or a soft breeze in the heat of the afternoon. Link Wray says that living is better than dying, and food tastes better than gold. I still think he’s right. —– Most of Kephart’s life revolved around the corresponding rhythms of writing and booze, with the woods being his sanctuary for both. He worked tirelessly to push for the creation of a National Park in the Appalachians, writing about the people and places that make the region so uniquely fascinating. He became the foremost expert on how to live in those woods, and he championed the simple, yet profound ways that the locals had been living in that region long before he came along. Nestled among bits of information about how to hike or navigate or clean a fish, he fashioned philosophical gems to remind his readers that nowhere, absolutely nowhere, is a man as free as when he lives simply, with a few meager provisions and the willingness to go where the day beckons. Or that man can never truly be lost, as long as he doesn’t lay expectations to where he’ll end up, instead exploring with purpose the path ahead. Kephart lived out his days exploring the woods, finding out everything he could about the world around him. Cataloging because it’s what he did best. Organizing hierarchies and making lists and asking questions about the woods. A cut of the same cloth as Muir or Thoreau or Emerson, climbing trees in a thunderstorm to feel what a tree feels, trying to wrestle life itself out of the chaos of living. Kephart would eventually die in a car wreck on a moonshine run along with a fellow passenger. The driver lived, only to die on the same stretch of road ten years later. —– As Alexis and I walk along Noland Creek, along Forney Creek, in the same woods that Kephart loved, I wonder if the ruins beyond the creek are remnants of one of his makeshift cabins. If that giant elm near the campsite was brought down by a thunderstorm that made ol Kep shudder in his bones. I wonder how many times Kephart, too, marveled at the way the light hits the water and explodes into a thousand tiny suns. After the storm, the sun comes out again. Alexis and I stop in the places where the light lingers through the trees and let the warmth seep into our skin. We traverse several stream-crossings, the water running higher from last night’s rain. The water reaches our calves, our thighs, but we don’t topple. We find sticks that other travelers before us have used to ford the stream, and we reach for each other when the sticks don’t seem to be enough. We reach camp midday and make a clothesline with some paracord that was left at a previous campsite by an accidentally generous occupant. Our clothes and sleeping pads and bags and tents and pillows get strung up to dry. We do yoga and stretch out along the creek, dipping down into the cold water and coming up feeling alive and new, drying out like lizards on the rocks. The following day dawns the same but new: sun among the trees and a slow awakening. The trail ends much like it began, slow and wide. A road really. Big enough for both of us to walk side by side. There is a tunnel that leads back to the road where our car is parked. Inside the tunnel it is cool and dark, and the end of the tunnel frames the woods, making brilliant the greens and browns that we’ve been walking in for the past five days. It’s good to feel Alexis’s hand in mine again. It’s good to see a new road in front of me. It’s good to feel the change of seasons and feel the wind on my face. And it’s fitting that I have a Kephart quote running through my brain: “It is one of the blessings of wilderness life that it shows us how few things we need in order to be perfectly happy.” ------------------------------------------------------ *I’m no historian; this is a rough sketch of Kephart’s life at best. For more info, go here: https://www.wcu.edu/library/digitalcollections/kephart/aboutproject.htm

[daveyjacobss]

Ohhhh, boy, I'm so happy you'll let me tell you some songs cuz none of my friends care... anyway, here's some: Strawberry Swing-Coldplay, Oh Ms. Believer-Twenty One Pilots, Here Without You-3 Doors Down, Love You Anyway-Ji Nilsson, 19th Nervous Breakdown-Rolling Stones, Monsters-Timeflies+Katie Sky, Taylor+Washing Dishes-Jack Johnson, Time In a Bottle-Jim Croce, Yellow Flicker Beat-Lorde, Fighting For My Life-Goodnite Neverland. I have more, but that's all for now. Tell me if you want more.

aaahhh thank you so much !!!! feel free to give me some more anytime :)