#the black sheep

[gin-draws]

sometimes you’re just feeling a little femme, and a little like there’s a dead raven god sharing your body.

#rezin #she/they #she they demons coming out of you am I right?? #dnd oc #oc art #dark elf #drow #drow oc #cleric #dnd art #dungeons & dragons #dnd character #dnd campaign #the black sheep #they’re going through some weird stuff rn #oc: Rezin

[candyredmusings]

Where's the love I'm needing? Maybe I'll just never know ...

#musings #the desolate #the broken hearted #the yearning #the fallen angel #the broken bird #the fervor #the black sheep #source: romance is dead - bailey spinn

[floridaboiler]

WWII uncovered: Ball Caps for the Black Sheep

During their first combat tour, while on the island of Vella Lavella, the Black Sheep’s Intelligence Officer Frank Walton wrote to the Commissioner of Baseball with a proposition:

"The Black Sheep, said Walton, were in dire need of sun-shading ball caps due to the humid weather which quickly destroyed their military issue caps. He promised that his Squadron’s pilots would shoot down a Japanese aircraft for each cap sent to them. Only the St. Louis Cardinal organization of the National League responded, sending dozens of caps to the heroes in the Pacific.

Pictured is Major Greg “Pappy” Boyington (right) pretending to take a stack of Cardinals caps from Chris Magee who accepts a stack of Japanese Navy “victory” decals in return. According to the National Baseball Hall of Fame: "In return for the caps, the Black Sheep made good on their end of the bargain. Instead of taking down just 20 enemy planes, though, the original 20 members of the Squadron accounted for 48 enemy planes destroyed." The St Louis Cardinals more than doubled their investment and the Black Sheep Squadron were happy to oblige!! Semper Fi.

#WWII #The Black Sheep #Pappy #Boyington

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Joseph (Jake) Klein

Published: Nov 15, 2023

From top-to-bottom, society has conditioned us to think kindness is an unmitigated good. The golden rule to “do unto others as you would have others do unto you” is one of the most remembered lines of Jesus, but the lesson is near ubiquitous across both the world’s religions and secular moral philosophy. To be kind is one of the first lessons we teach our children. Our greatest works of fiction have focused on the heroism of kindness. Even our advertising frequently uses the morality of kindness to ingratiate us to brands.

But far from an unmitigated good, kindness has a dark side. The once virtuous cell of kindness has metastasized into a cancer. The evolution of kindness, manifested in the unparalleled cooperative ability of mankind, enabled the development of civilization.

In contemporary times, however, pathological kindness has become one of the greatest threats to bring about its destruction.

In the beginning, kindness was not a luxury, but a need. To escape the poverty and starvation inherent to the state of nature, humanity had no choice but to learn to be kind to each other in order to successfully cooperate and produce what they needed to survive. As the great economist Ludwig von Mises explained, “[w]e may call consciousness of kind, sense of community, or sense of belonging together the acknowledgment of the fact that all other human beings are potential collaborators in the struggle for survival because they are capable of recognizing the mutual benefits of cooperation, while the animals lack this faculty.”

“However,” Mises continues, kindness was not developed as a virtue purely in the abstract. “we must not forget that the primary facts that bring about such consciousness or such a sense are the two mentioned above. In a hypothetical world in which the division of labor would not increase productivity, there would not be any society. There would not be any sentiments of benevolence and good will.”

Kindness became a virtue precisely because it’s productive. But, in a world of abundance, kindness instead now often eats away at the resources of society. In a prosperous, advanced society where individuals have moved up Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, expressions of kindness towards those who cannot or will not help themselves has been able to develop as a dominant virtue.

Kindness towards those who cannot help themselves is indeed a virtue; anyone of us could fall into this situation through no fault of our own. But kindness towards those who will not help themselves, who seek to leech off of us rather than contribute to society’s progress, is where virtue slips into vice. Most dangerously, those who are successful at taking advantage of society’s kindness rarely admit they will not help themselves, but wear the mask of those who cannot.

When a scammer takes advantage of your kindness to profit at your expense, we all know they’re the bad guy. But when someone claims victimhood and takes advantage of you by passing laws and regulations, we’re supposed to call that the justice of democracy.

This is the politics of Leftism, from the Jacobins through classical Marxism and now wearing its more fashionable woke regalia. A class group or cultural group (including race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, etc.) flips morality on its head by claiming itself as oppressed—those who cannot help themselves—and appeals to the vice of kindness to gain legal advantages over other groups and redistribute resources towards itself.

To be clear, not everyone on the Left is a manipulative leech. Numerically most will be manipulated hosts. But their manipulators fit a personality type known as the dark tetrad: narcissism, psychopathy, machiavellianism, and sadism. Amongst other traits, dark tetrad types tend to present with a sense of entitlement and a victim mentality. Studies have demonstrated a strong link between the dark tetrad personality and politically correct authoritarian behavior, which includes a belief in censorship of words and ideas deemed offensive by the authoritarian, that those who utter these words and ideas should be punished for it, and a belief that alleged perpetrators of crimes against a victim group should be treated as guilty before proving their innocence.

Distinguished evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins brilliantly explains in the video below how evolution leads to the existence of such dark tetrad behavior. A world full of kind people is evolutionarily unstable as it creates an incentive to take advantage of the productive ability of the kind masses. But if those who live by leeching off of others become dominant in society then it’s just as evolutionarily unstable, as society collapses from its inability to produce. A society mostly full of kind people, but with a few leeches, can last for the long run.

In an era where victimhood culture is becoming dominant, we are moving into unstable space. It wouldn’t be the first time such an unstable arrangement had the opportunity to destroy a civilization—just look at the Soviet Union. While dark tetrad personalities only constitute about 7% of the international population, in the contemporary West the leech’s activism appears to have led to a far larger percentage of their hosts accepting their destructive ideas. These hosts are overrepresented amongst the world’s upper classes given that being higher on Maslow’s Hierarchy provides more of an opportunity to extend pathological kindness. Rob Henderson has famously labeled this phenomenon “luxury beliefs.”

So what do we do about this problem? You read it already: it’s time to stop being kind to people. Not everyone, obviously, kindness is usually a virtue and should be extended to everyone who wishes to cooperate to build our shared society in peace and productivity, and should also extend to the many well-intentioned hosts of bad ideas who know not what they do.

But when it comes to the leeches, it’s time to cease acting as if it’s a moral virtue to extend endless kindness to those who seek to gain at your expense. Feeding their victimhood and entitlement is what provides an incentive for them to continue; like training an animal, when the rewards cease the behavior will follow.

As the French economist Frédéric Bastiat put it, “[w]hen, then, does plunder stop? It stops when it becomes more painful and more dangerous than labor.”

Yes, many already express hostility and disgust towards the woke and mock them online (and sometimes in person), but how many speak of it with clarity as a moral virtue to do so? To make the leech’s hosts stop feeding them, they must understand that their overextended kindness is a moral evil.

At least one woman understood this: Ayn Rand. Rand spoke of the “virtue of selfishness,” pioneering clickbait tactics with an intentionally provocative phrase designed to grab people and force them to think, but that when explained becomes more agreeable than at first glance. “Selfishness” to Rand did not mean gaining at another’s expense, as the leeches (or “parasites," in her words) do, but acting in one’s long-term rational self-interest. That includes being kind to those who work cooperatively with us to make the world a better place, which is most people most of the time. But to be virtuously selfish, in Rand’s view, one must oppose altruism: self-sacrifice for another’s gain.

Unkindness towards those who deserve it needn’t and shouldn’t be a permanent attitude. Those willing to stop using victimhood as a weapon should be met with forgiveness. Perhaps they should even be treated with disproportionate kindness to encourage others to also give up their maladaptive beliefs. We want to reward people who stop their pathological behavior and join the cooperative harmony of human civilization. But until then, we must be brave. We must be willing to be seen as black sheep in order to fix society’s broken morality.

Don’t be kind to those who seek your destruction, and know and say loudly that you are right not to do it.

==

It's not a kindness to help people avoid living in reality. It's not kindness to lie in order to deprive grown adults of the opportunity to live in the real world.

We don't lie to the religious any more. We don't pretend to pray with them because they'd be offended otherwise. We don't say that their faith is reason enough to believe an obvious lie.

Stop letting people manipulate you into lying for their benefit.

#Jake Klein #Joseph Klein #The Black Sheep #be kind #weaponized empathy #empathy #kindness #religion is a mental illness #Youtube

[movieposters1]

#the black sheep

[fieldsofwax]

the entirety of tvd is about two brothers who from childhood, as a trauma response (abusive alcoholic father), colluded with each other into playing roles of morally good brother and bad brother and them doing all they can to reinforce that (damon the scapegoat, stefan the secretive ‘hero’) -but vampirism, as a condition of forced moral greyness, challenges this act of being moral opposites that they do. Stefan continued the cycle of “addiction” in being a ripper as a vampire, and Damon displays dry drunkenness and scapegoat/rebel behavior. And when a human (who is not forced into moral greyness)-Elena (the mediator), manages to actually get to know these vampires, she gets to them to realize that neither is "good" or "bad"-no one is.

This is best displayed in the season 7 scene of Damon and Stefan as children. Their alcoholic father proclaims that someone stole his money out of the house. Damon takes the fall for it so that Stefan doesn’t get abused. Their father then asks Stefan to grab his lighter so that he can light the cigar that he uses to burn Damon with as punishment.

#tvd #the vampire diaries #trauma responses #the scapegoat #family systems #family scapegoat #the black sheep #the hero family role #ifs #ifs therapy #delena #stelena #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #elena gilbert #the mediator #chief enabler #dysfunctional family systems #dysfunctional family #media psychology #psychology through tv #internal family systems

[bharatiya-naari-sab-pe-bhaari]

*pinterest*

#severus snape #the sandman #lord morpheus #lucifer morningstar #tony stark #james norrington #the black sheep #grey characters

[pirate-of-the-southern-isles]

Fanfic Snippet - Questionable methods

The crew is sailing to the sultanate of Erish - first of the three places on the treasure map, where they have to break into a heavily guarded prison and retrieve a clue. It won't be easy - Erish's territorial waters are always rough and stormy. Only if you have a licenced guide from sultanate's navy you can expect to make it to the shore. And they, of course, don't have it.

But even if they are already close and should be getting ready to scheme their way in, it is a certain time of the week - and Hans has to do something he would really prefer not to do. So, to be absolutely sure he will not fail to do so, he ordered his quartermaster, Egg, to help him with it.

It was convenient that the correspondance between the ships was constant and he knew when Morgan – Layla’s postal eagle – will appear on his balcony. Too bad it was the most puffed up bird the world has ever seen.

„Here” he said, annoyed with his attitude, passing a piece of smoked beef towards the beak. „Is it enough or are you gonna continue arguing with me?”

Morgan devoured his paycheck and, in the most condescending manner, put his leg up, so Hans could tie a letter to it.

„Huh, I am making yet another debt”. The captain sighed, while observing the messenger flying towards horizon. „Well. To be honest, I am curious how they are gonna make it to Erish”.

„Knowing Layla – she is probably planning to charm everyone with her gracefulness”.

Hans rolled his eyes; he already made peace with the fact that not a single member of his crew ever knocks before coming into his cabin.

„So what you are suggesting is – they are going to approach their nearest vessel, then she is gonna undo two buttons on her shirt, tie a corset a little tighter and everybody will be at her feet immediately?”

„Works almost every time”. Egg shrugged. "Sailors are simple lads, in every corner of the world".

„Ye… If she would undo three buttons, they would probably make her a Grand Visier”.

„Or a sultan”.

They laughed together, but only for a brief moment. At the end, Egg came for a specific reason.

„So… are you ready?”.

Hans looked at the clock. Two minutes to seven, Friday’s evening. The time has come, like it did every week.

„Ready”. He exhaled heavily and went to lay down on his hammock. „Tie me up. The deck is yours”.

Egg, fastly and skilfully, threaded thin but sturdy leather straps through holes on the edge of a fabric. Just like he would do with shoelaces. Hans gritted his teeth, seeing his legs disappearing under the cloth. Every time he felt like he was being swallowed by a whale again.

„Damn, and I had to pass on such a nice dinner”. He complained, feeling both tightness and emptyness in his stomach. „Do you think there was something left for tomorrow?”.

„You know Gudrun is always making you noodles with poppy seeds the next day. And you know she bought a whole sack of walnuts. And raisins”.

„Neptune was watching over us when we recruited her”.

„Aye. Alright…” Egg pulled the straps once again, just above the captain’s chest, then went to one of the cupboards. He retrieved a bottle with hellishly red liquid inside, sealed with a cork. On the top of it there was a scorched sigil, on the sight of which the quartermaster really wanted to throw some salt over his left shoulder. „You are running short on it”.

„I know. We will have to sail to the Republic soon. I think the next place on our map is somewhere nearby, so, in the meantime… maybe we will be able to pay a visit”.

„I know I am always asking it, but… are you sure it is safe?”.

Hans adjusted his pillow and made sure that there is a bucket somewhere in close proximity.

„And I am telling you every time – I have no idea” he said. „But it is not relevant if it is safe. The important part is – it is necessary”.

„I would argue”.

„Don’t, just give it to me”.  

Egg sighed and handed over the bottle, at the same time pulling off his own flask with grogg.

„So… skål?”.

The captain pulled of a cork. For a second they could swear they heard a strange, unsettling noise – like if the liquid hissed.

„Skål”.

They drunk together. For Egg it was nice – rum mixed with citruses and a spoonful of honey was, in fact, the most favourite drink of any pirate.

For Hans it was like he was swallowing shattered glass.

„Goodnight, captain”. The quartermaster tugged the straps one more time and tied it, closing him in a hammock like it was a cocoon. Or a shroud, he thought for a moment but brushed it off immediately. „Good luck”.

The only answer was a muffled wail of pain.

#frozen #hans of the southern isles #prince hans #hans westergaard #fanfic #fanfiction #the black sheep #pirate crew #you can always be a pirate #fanfic snippet #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writer stuff

[jasvvy]

#ricky starks #the black sheep

[dilf-in-peril]

What went wrong?

#dusty rhodes #dustin rhodes #cody rhodes #the black sheep #I don't hate him just observing

[thedefinitionofendgame]

so who's the lovely mother of Lucas Adams? because if it's Kathleen I have no idea how she never managed to poison this black sheep of the family. I'm gonna guess Liz maybe?

#lucas adams #the shepherd family #the black sheep #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy season 19 #kathleen shepherd #liz shepherd #nancy shepherd #the definition of endgame

[candyredmusings]

#musings #familial issues #familial inspo #the black sheep #the unloved #the outcast #the desolate #source: mama's boy - dominic fike

[flying-potatos-little-nook]

The Black Sheep (A Novel)

The Black Sheep A novel by erri s. (flying potato)

The faint sounds of Bryens’ footsteps echoed around the darkness. It’s the same thing again. Darkness and then some light from the distance. His feet moved without thinking, leading him to the source of light which he soon found out to be a small fire. It flickered slightly as he hovered his hand above it, the fire reflecting the curiosity in his eyes. This is how it usually goes. But tonight, something’s…different. The more his hands hovered above it, the brighter it stoked. It glowed brighter and stronger, the shine gleaming until it was blinding, until he saw nothing but a flash of white-

Bryens shot up from his bed, only for the glaring sunlight to pierce through his eyes. “Oh you’re awake. Good good, can’t have you being late for your classes now,” he heard his mom fuss while opening the curtains as he rubbed his eyes, trying to regain his sight after being temporarily blinded. His mom threw a glance at his direction and noticed him. “Dearie me, are you alright?” she asked as she sat on the foot of his bed. Bryens nodded, “Yeah, just…a little blinded,” he answered and Emirhythia couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh dear, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head before looking at him again. “Same dream?” she asked and her son meekly nodded. "It’s been getting more frequent recently. B-but…this time, it’s a little different. The fire didn’t die. Instead, it just glowed brighter and brighter until it was blinding,” said Bryens, recanting his whole dream to her mother, who fell silent all of a sudden. “Mom? Do you think it means something?” he asked, tapping her shoulder and she looked up with a strange look in her eyes. It almost seemed like…sadness? “I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s probably just your hyper-active mind as a teenager. Don’t worry about it,” she said reassuringly and he rolled his eyes. “Come on mom, no using your powers on me,” he complained and Emirhythia only laughed, the strange look in her eyes gone, convincing Bryens that it was probably just his imagination. “Alright, go on now, darling, breakfast is getting cold,” she said as she messed his hair up, earning a small giggle from him before she stood up and headed to the door, pausing for a moment.

“Bryens?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I love you. Always,” she said with a soft smile and Bryens couldn’t help but wonder why she would say that out of the blue but returned the sweet words nonetheless. 

“Love you too, Mom,” he responded before she closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with his train wreck of thoughts. 

By the time he got downstairs, he was already fresh out of shower, his brown wavy hair tousled. 

“Hmm, took you long enough to get down, huh?” His father’s stern voice greeted him as he sat down, his blue eyes never leaving the newspaper in front of him. 

“Oh stop it, Stephanor. We had a little talk, alright, give him a break,” Emirhythia chided him and he rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. Well, hurry your breakfast, Lana could be here any moment now,” his father said and as if on cue, the doorbell suddenly rang, making Emirhythia grin. “Right on cue,” she mused before Bryens stood up to open the door. 

“Bry!” the bubbly redhead greeted with her signature bright smile before letting herself in on the house as usual. 

“And yes, just come on in,” he sighed before closing the door, heading back to the table to finish his breakfast. 

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson,” she turned to them and they nodded acknowledgingly. 

“And to you too, dearie. You’re a bit more cheerful than usual, aren’t you?” Emirhythia teased and Caislana giggled in response. 

“And you look lovelier than usual, Mrs. Anderson,” she returned the comment before turning to Bryens. 

“You’re still on your breakfast?” she gaped at him and his half-finished plate of bacon and eggs. The brunette only stared at her with a flat face before resuming his breakfast. 

“Hey, don’t give me the cold shoulder now, you should be happy I still stopped by despite us being almost late,” Lana playfully frowned and Bryens took a gulp of his orange juice first before answering. 

“Not like I asked you to wait for me, you know,” he responded, making Lana squint her eyes playfully at him. 

“Well even if you don’t ask me, you know damn well I’d still wait for you every time,” she murmured. 

“Huh?” 

“Nothing. Hurry up or I’ll leave you to yourself,” she jokingly threatened and although Bryens knew she was just joking, he still hurried himself, finishing his breakfast quickly before grabbing his stuff, bidding his parents goodbye before leaving with his best friend. 

“You alright? You seem quieter than usual,” Lana commented, noticing his quiet behavior. Granted, he’s always quiet, but right now, well it’s more so than usual. 

“Yeah,” Bryens nodded absent-mindedly before taking a deep breath. “It’s just…” he trailed off.

“The same dream again?” Lana finished his sentence for him and he nodded. 

“Except this time…the fire didn’t get snuffed out. It just…burned brighter,” he added.

“Do you think it has something to do with your…power?” the redhead asked gently, knowing it wasn’t a topic they usually pursue. Bryens only chuckled bitterly. 

“You know I’ve given up on that long ago,” he spoke tartly. 

"Yes, but it could be some sort of foreshadowing-"

"Lana. Forget it. I've accepted it already. So should you," Bryens cut her off and she fell silent. Despite his claim of accepting the fact that he's non-magical, she can sense the tiniest shred of hope in his voice. I wish I can help you, Lana thought to herself as she remained silent on their way to school. Meanwhile, Bryens took a glance at her, feeling guilty. Caislana Harnvark has been nothing but kind to him ever since the day they first met. As if on command, his mind instantly returned to their first encounter. 

He was walking along one of the many school hallways, his head ducked down, his hands gripping his backpack as he tried to ignore the disparaging looks everyone was giving him. He barely knew any of them yet they already seem like they do. Who wouldn't, though. The one and only infamous non-magical in the kingdom of Galdour. Even the teachers seemed to give him scrutinizing stares as he attended their classes and despite being used to the judgmental stares, he couldn't help but still feel that sting of estrangement.

He was at the back of the cafeteria, taking out the lunch his mom made for him when a girl with short red hair and blue tee sat in front of him.

"Oh my gosh, that man is INSUFFERABLE. I told him to save a seat for me but instead, he let those BREADSTICKS called cheerleaders occupy all the seats along with his OAFISH lackeys!" she ranted as if oblivious of his presence. Bryens furrowed his brows, two things running in his mind. First, does this girl not know that she's sitting with the non-magical boy that everyone avoids like a plague? Second, who is she ranting about and why does she seem heavily exasperated?

"Uhm…miss?" he started reluctantly and the girl stopped her rambling mid-sentence. 

"Oh right, sorry. My cousin is just being annoying as usual, like, I get that you're famous and all but do you have to have the whole varsity team sit with him like duh, I need a seat as well and-," she cut herself short when she saw the brunette boy just staring at her and she immediately cleared her throat. "Right, sorry, I'm rambling again. I'm Caislana Harnvark but you can call me Lana for short. Nice to meet you!" she introduced herself before extending a hand out. Bryens cocked his head to the side, confused. This girl first approached him ranting vehemently about who-knows-who and now she's extending her hand out for him to shake? Meanwhile, Caislana, realizing he won't shake her hand sooner or later, retracted her arm slowly. 

"I'm sorry for earlier. I guess there goes my first impression. You're Bryens, right?" she asked, trying to relieve the awkward tension between them. Bryens nodded.

"How did you-" he stopped himself short. He's pretty sure he already knows the reason why she knows his name and so, he just chose to nod.

"I see. I keep hearing the students talking about you all over the school. I wonder why though," she mused and Bryens raised a brow, intrigued. Does she seriously not know why?

He was about to open his mouth to answer when a tall, dark man walked up to their, or rather, his table. 

"Lana! What are you doing sitting with THIS guy?" his voice boomed as he asked the redhead and Bryens simply remained silent, unaffected by the obvious aghast tone in his voice.

"Because he's the only one with an empty seat around this whole cafe? Didn't I tell you to save me a seat, you dingus!" Lana shot back. 

"Well, you could've approached me and we could've squeezed you in instead of sitting with him," the man spewed the word 'him' with such contempt it made Lana flinch.

"Squeeze me in?! Rhayhu, excuse me but I'm not as much of a stick as your girlfriends over there. And besides, why are you acting like he's carrying The Flu or something?" she asked and the man shook his head.

"He's Bryens Anderson, the one and only non-magical in the whole kingdom," he answered and Bryens sighed quietly. So much for making a friend. 

Lana's eyes widened as she looked at the non-magical before turning her attention back to the man called Rhayhu, her arms now crossed over her chest. 

"And so? He might be non-magical but at least he's decent enough to let a stranger sit with him unlike you who couldn't even save his cousin a seat," she said snarkily.

"I-"

"Shush, alright. I'm comfortably seated here now and you can't do nothing with it so I suggest you go back to your friends," she emphasized the word 'friends' with air quotes, "and leave me and my newfound friend be, alright?" she demanded. Rhayhu was about to protest when Lana's eyes narrowed warningly at him.

"Fine," he sighed, defeated. "But if you lose your magic, don't blame me, alright!" he added before going back to his seat where his companions were. Meanwhile, Bryens was just watching the whole ordeal unfold before him, emotions mixed up. 

"Sorry again, about that. Gosh, I feel like I've embarrassed myself one too many times already and it's barely been 30 minutes since we met," Lana laughed nervously. 

"You're not…scared?" Bryens spoke up softly, his eyes not meeting hers.

"Scared? Why should I be?" she asked, finding the question ridiculous.

"You know, that I might steal your power or what?" he inquired again. This time, Lana didn't bother trying to hide the snicker that escaped her

"Now why would you do that? My powers are not that worthy of getting stolen. Plus, I'm sure you won't do it." she said, snickering.

Bryens finally looked up, meeting her green gaze with his own blue ones and for a second, Lana felt her heart skip a beat. Or two. 

"How are you so sure?" he asked, as if trying to intimidate her but neither his gaze nor tone was intimidating.

"I-I…just know. And I have good intuition, alright," she joked, clearing her throat. Bryens fell silent for a second before speaking up again.

"So did you mean it? I'm a 'newfound friend'?"

Lana nodded without hesitation.

"Of course, unless you don't want me to be. But even if you don't want to be friends with me, I'll pester you so much you'd either want to end me or befriend me. And judging by your looks, I highly doubt you'd do the former," she shrugged and this time, Bryens laughed.

"You never know," he grinned and Lana couldn't help but smile as well and before they knew it, their bickering led to them being the best of friends.

"Hey, Earth to Bryens Anderson?" Lana's sweet voice pulled Bryens out of his trip down memory lane. 

"Oh right, you were saying?" he asked, embarrassed and Lana snickered at him.

"Were you in your own fantasy land? I was saying, I'm sorry for bringing up the topic about your…you know. I guess I'm just still hoping that things can change for the better for you," she said apologetically and Bryens couldn't help but smile. He reached out his hand and ruffled her hair slightly.

"It's alright. As I've said earlier, I've already accepted things as they are," he answered before laughing as Lana tried to fix her hair.

"Did you really have to mess my hair up though?" she frowned at him as they stopped in front of their school building.

"Maybe," Bryens shrugged nonchalantly before Lana squinted her eyes at him.

"Alright, fine, I'll let you slide this time but only because we're almost late. Next time, I'm not letting you off the hook so easily," she warned him playfully.

"Oh, I'm so scared," Bryens feigned fear as he parted ways with her, heading to his classes and Lana only rolled her eyes at him. "See you after school, boss!" he called out and she smiled, her phony annoyance with him vanished.

"See ya!" she returned with a salute before heading to her classes as well.

Meanwhile, at home, Emirhythia looked frantically at the calendar. It's almost there. Bryens' 17th birthday. 

"Em, calm down," Stephanor tried to calm her down but it did nothing.

"His dreams, Steph. It's almost time," she said worriedly. 

"I know but…fussing about this won't change things. We both know this was bound to happen sooner or later," he stated.

"But can we really not change things though? What if we just don't-"

"Emirhythia, don't you dare think of what you're thinking. We agreed on this already, 15 years ago."

"I-I…we never should have. We never should have," she said as tears slowly poured down. Stephanor sighed as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her comfortingly as he kissed her hair in an attempt to soothe her.

 "Everything will be alright, don't worry," he said comfortingly although they both knew he was lying. Nothing will be alright in a matter of days, especially with Bryens' 17th birthday looming over them like a heavy thunderstorm cloud, ready to rain not only on their parade but also on their lives. And none of them would be ready for it. Not quite.

#writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writer community #writblr #creative writing #original writing #fantasy #fantasy novel #novel writing #flying potato #the black sheep #chapter 1

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Adam B. Coleman

Published: Mar 11, 2024

As a child, I never felt like I was “enough.” I wasn’t enough to keep my father involved in my life, I wasn’t confident enough in myself, and I wasn’t black enough for anyone’s standards.

I’ve never kept up with anyone’s standard of blackness, regardless of whether they were white or black, throughout my life. When I lived in the suburbs and rural areas, it wouldn’t be uncommon for me to be referred to as “White Adam” by some of my white classmates followed by a jovial laugh. I was the punchline of the moment but with every lame comment about how “white” I dressed or talked, it weakened my resolve for pursuing other people’s acceptance.

When I lived in neighborhoods that featured more children who looked like me, I didn’t quite fit in with them either. However, instead of mocking me, they often distanced themselves from me.

I lived in four states before the age of 18, and every time you move you must start over with gaining acceptance and galvanizing new friendships. The older you get, the more difficult it becomes.

When I moved to New Jersey from Upstate New York, I transferred from a middle school where I was one of only four black kids to one where nearly half of the kids were black. I remember noticing how I dressed differently than everyone else; this difference was inescapable.

To try to fit in, I bought some stereotypical hip-hop gear. Suddenly people liked me and treated me differently. Two girls thought I was cute and the black kids who previously ignored me were noticing my existence and complimenting my “upgrade”.

But I felt like a fraud. I was uncomfortable becoming someone I wasn’t. My makeover only lasted a couple of weeks before I went back to my old self and the dynamic between me and my classmates returned to its discouraging normality.

As a teenager, your identity and how you want to be seen are already some of the hardest things to navigate, but what makes it even harder is the pressure from others to become something unfamiliar to you because it makes them feel comfortable.

I was told that I hated myself, hated being black, and if I could’ve wished for anything, it was to be white: but of course, none of this was true.

If I dated a white girl, then it was allegedly because I hated all black women, but the truth was that black girls didn’t like me at the time: I wasn’t “black” enough for them.

My community’s objective was to shame me into compliance, become what they wanted, and ultimately relinquish my power of individuality for superficial group acceptance. They felt the need to gatekeep my interests, mannerisms, and romantic partners, or else I’d be excommunicated from “my people” indefinitely.

What was ironic about all of this is that I accepted their choices to express themselves as black people in whichever way they chose to, even if it was sometimes stereotypical. “Blackness” shouldn’t be defined by the group, but by the individual. You decide what being black means for yourself.

Humans are group-oriented creatures; it’s natural to want to find your tribe and conform to their practices. We want to find belonging within a culture, but this can go too far. When it does, we become rigid and authoritarian in what we deem as the acceptable characteristics for members of the group.

The group gatekeepers seek power via control and will use shaming tactics to make you second guess who you are. They know that black sheep have the power to overthrow them by inspiring the group to change their status quo behavior.

If you stick your neck out, take a social beating, and still remain resolute in your stance, people will notice.

For every failed campaign to destroy the black sheep, more people complying merely out of fear are encouraged to be brave enough to question the herd.

Those arrows that I took as a child only made me stronger as an adult, and I realized that I’m stronger than most because of the emotional bruising I took for my defiance in allowing them to define my identity.   

Defying social pressure to become something that I didn’t feel comfortable with as a child made me resilient to the shaming tactics of adults who actively attempt to make me bend into the figure they’re more comfortable with.

The people who gatekeep how I express myself politically based on racial expectations are no different than those grade school children who demanded conformity—both are uncomfortable when you choose yourself over the group.

Years of questioning who I am have led me to a conclusion: I love myself enough not to let strangers define me, and no amount of shaming will make me conform.

I am a black sheep, and I am enough. They can call me a coon, white wannabe, or an Uncle Tom, but none of these insults can inflict any pain upon me. Why? Because I know who I am, I love who I am, and nothing can shake this. I’m no longer the child who was insecure about my existence and waiting for people to confirm if I’m acceptable because I accepted myself years ago.

#The Black Sheep #Adam B. Coleman #collectivism #individuality #individualism #black sheep #tribalism #nonconformity #conformity #authoritarianism #religion is a mental illness

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#the black sheep

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#my poor little man :( #I love Magnus so much #the black sheep #a Morgling #art wip #my art #oc art #angst art